
Book ' L S 

I ^^3 



GLEANINGS 



— AT^ 



SEVENTY-FIVE. 



— BY 



SUSAN iluKENS. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
HENRY LONGSTRETH, 138 SANSOM STREET. 

1883. 






V. 



PREFACE. 



One who was accounted wise — was literary and scien- 
tific — said that when a man reached the age of seventy, 
his time for active usefulness was past, he should he laid 
on the shelf. (By the way, he did not act in accordance 
with that opinion, continuing his literary labors, &c., 
until many years past that age.) But if any agree with 
his early assertion, what will they thhik of one in her 
seventy-sixth year entering on an untried path ? 

The reasons — a collection of articles from various 
sources was interesting to myself and my friends. The 
latter often urged their publication. For some I copied 
portions, but could not supply all, and at length I con- 
sented to glean from the whole a comparatively small 
number of articles for publication. 

When this was nearly accomplished came many re- 
quests to add some of the poetical pieces I had written 
long since, most of which were published in sundry 



Vlil PREFACE. 

periodicals about the time they are dated. I had never 
previously thought of reprinting them ; yet here are a 
few which I venture to put forth, with a hope that the 
contents of the book may cause no regret to its readers, 

or to the gleaner, 

Susan Lukens. 
Eecildoun, 

nth month, 1872, 

[Since the materials for this publication were prepared 
for the press, the author, Susan Lukens, has been taken 
away by death ; having, after a brief illness, peacefully 
deceased at her residence, at Ercildoun, near Coatesvillle, 
Pennsylvania, on the First day of the First month, 1873, 
aged seventy -six years within a few days.] *"' £ 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Robert Barrow's Shipwreck, &c., . . . . . 13 

Narrative of John Leifehild, 24 

James Simpson, 25 

Dream of Oliver Paxson, 36 

Abel Haughton, 37 

Account of Two Friends in Scotland, .... 39 

William Tuchold, 40 

Dr. Payson, 42 

William Crotch, 43 

Duke of Wellington on Victories, ..... 46 

Anecdote of a Bishop of London, 46 

William Blakey, 47 

An Early Marriage Certificate, 49 

Extract from Memoirs of William Bramwell, ... 49 

Extract from Memoirs of Thomas Scattergood, . . 51 

Total Abstinence, 53 

Samuel Fothergill, ,54 

Drowsiness, 56 

John Bunyan, . . 57 

Matthew Warren, 58 

A Dream- Warning, 58 

Silent Kebuke, 63 

Clarke Stevens, 65 

Deborah Morris's Will, 66 

Anthony Benezet, . • 68 

Hume, the Infidel, 68 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Thomas Waring, 70 

George Whitefield, &c., 74 

An Infidel's Death-Bed, 75 

A. Murder Prevented, 76 

Martha Routh, 79 

Rowland Hill, 80 

Indian Discourse at a Funeral, .•.,.. 83 

An Indian Witness, 86 

Mehetabel Jenkins, • . . . • ... 86 

Caleb Pennock, « ........ 87 

Extracts from Jacob Lindley's Journal, .... 91 

A Raven in 1766, 92 

A Student and Duke, 93 

William Kirk and Wife, .^93 

Abel Thomas, 95 

Mary Ridgway and Jane Watson, . . . . . 95 

Letter from Peter Yarnall, 97 

Account respecting Nantucket, ...... 101 

Account respecting Xantucket, by John Fothergill, . 102 

A Dream of Mildred Ratcliffe, 104 

John Woolman's First Service in England, . . . 106 

Divine Guidance and Protection, 107 

Plain Dress, &c., 113 

Mary Dyer's Letter, 113 

Account of Edward Wanton, 117 

John Salkeld, 118 

Preservation of a Family in Ireland, 119 

Mary Griffin, 123 

Comfort Collins, . . . ... . . .125 

Anecdote of John Fletcher, 126 

Letter from John Thorp, . . . . . . .128 

Remarkable Narrative of David Sands, .... 129 

Edward Foulke, 134 

Joseph Lukens, ......... 144 

Eleanor McC arty, 145 

Value of Premonitions, ....... 146 

A Minister of Berg, . 148 

A Dream of Sarah Harrison's, ...... 148 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. - XI 

PAGE 

Joseph Hemphiirs Rebuke to a Careless Professor, , . 150 

Anecdote of Capt. William Gifford, 151 

A Presentiment, . . . 152 

An Indian's Shrewdness, . . , . ; . , • 153 

Sensibility of an Indian, 154 



POETICAL PIECES. 

The Painter of Seville, . . . . . . .155 

Death-Bed of a Slave-Taker, 161 

Fragments, . , 163 

Lines written in an Invalid's Chamber, . . . .167 
Humility, . . , . .... . .168 

Safety in Our Father's House, 169 

Fugitives in Boston, . . . . . . . .170 

Lines Written at Tunessassah, 175 

A Fragment, 176 

Retribution, 177 

To My Father, 179 

Lines on the Death of a Young Girl, .... 180 

To an Aged Friend, .181 

The Ground on which we stand, 182 

Mother and Son, 183 

A Mother's Prayer, 184 

Death-Bed of a Slaveholder, 185 

To S. B., on Idols, 188 

Beer-L^hai-Roi, 189 

Strive for the Right, 190 

A Contrast, 192 

On a Saying of Caleb Pennock's, 193 

To S. L., 194 

The Tempted, 195 

Thanksgiving, 196 

Stanzas, 197 

Impromptu, 199 

To , on a Place of Rest, 199 

Household Treasures, 200 



Xll TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PA<5E 

Hymn, 201 

Mary Dockstater, 202 

*^ Mother, Pray for Me,"' 204 

Living Water, 205 

**FollowMe," 206 

The Upper Chamber, 206 

"Pray without Ceasing," 208 

To , on Unbelief, 209 

Biding the Storm, 210 

Resignation, 211 

The Christian's Path, 212 

A Contrite Spirit, 213 

Thirsting No More, . , 214 

Hospitality, 215 



I 



GLEANINGS 



SE VENT Y-FI YE. 



EGBERT BARRGW. 

Robert Barrow was born in Lancashire, England, 
but was removed in his infancy into the neighborhood of 
Kendal, in Westmoreland. He was convinced of the 
truth in 1652, soon after the first meetings of Friends 
were settled in that county ; and, as did many others, he 
often suffered from fines, distraint of goods, and long 
imprisonments. 

About the year 1668, he received a gift in the ministr}'', 
and was a zealous laborer in the Gospel for twenty-six 
years. His wife was a daugliter of Christopher Bris- 
brown, who, for conscientiously refusing to pay tithes, 
was, at the age of seventy-seven, imprisoned and (even 
contrary to the law under which his persecutors pre- 
tended to act) kept in close confinement more than six- 
teen months, when he was released by deiitli. 

Robert Barrow, on his death-bed (in Philadelphia), 
often spoke most affectionately of his wife. Gn one occa- 
sion he said: '' I married her for the truth's sake, — she 
was God's gift to me. When I left her, it was as if I was 
going to my grave. Neither gold nor silver, riches nor 

2 



14 GLKAWIKGS AT SEVEyTY-FIVB. 

honor, should have parted us. — nothing but that I might 
be ol^dient to the Lord, and keep my peace with God.'' 

Notwithstanding the rarious fines collected from him, 
Robert Barrow had, by industry, accumulated an estate; 
and feeling himself called to more extensive travels for 
the truth's sake, he, about the year 1690. placed his prop- 
erty in the hands of his son, reserving therefrom an 
annuity sufficient for the comfortable maintenance of 
himself and family. 

In the Eleventh month, 1690, he was in London ; and 
having attended many meetings with George Fox. he 
was with him during his short illness, imtil '• he sweetly 
fell asleep in the Lord," whose blessed truth he had 
livingly and powerfully preached in the meeting but two 
days before. 

He travelled twice under a religious concern in Scot- 
land and Ireland : and in 1694 he believed it right to 
visit in gospel love the American continent and adjacent 
islands. He felt it a trial at his age to cross the ocean 
and travel in a foreign land, but above all to take probably 
a last farewell of the beloved companion of his life. In 
speaking of the expected diflSculties and dangers of his 
way, he remarked, that he had rather immediately lay 
down his natural life, if by so doing he could keep his 
peace with Grod, than go to America. 

In London he met with Robert Wardell, another ancient 
minister who was under a simibr concern. There also 
were Samuel Jennings, and Thomas Duckett, of Phila- 
delphia, who, having been on religious service in England, 
were about returning home. 

About the close of the year 1694, Robert Barrow and 
Rol»ert Wardell arrived in America and travelled through 
the various provinces, attending 32 S meetings in less than 
a vear. 



HOBEUT BARROW. 15 

Near the end of the year 1695, they passed over to the 
West India Islands, and after much service in Bermudas 
and Antigua, sailed to Jamaica, which they reached the 
4th of the Second month, 1696. Although at this time 
these ancient Friends were both indisposed, they con- 
tinued diligent in their gospel labors for about two weeks. 
Robert Wardell then rapidly sank under the effect of the 
climate, and after four days' confinement, died on the 22d 
of the same month. He departed in great peace, which 
condition of mind appears to have been mercifully granted 
to him throughout his illness. To the woman Friend at 
whose house he lay, he said, ^' The Lord reward thee for 
thy tender care ; it makes me think of my dear wife. I 
know not whether I may ever see her more ; but, how- 
ever, the will of God be done. I am, and was willing to 
be contented with the will of God, whether life or death, 
before I came hither ; and I bless God I am not afraid to 
die." He continued to the end giving pertinent exhorta- 
tions to those who came to visit him, concerning the 
education of their children, and the support of proper 
discipline in the church ; having a desire, as he told 
them, that Friends might walk answerable to God's love 
to them. 

Robert Barrow remained on the island four months 
after the decease of his companion. He was very unwell 
all the time of his visit, but was enabled to attend every 
meeting as it came in course, except one. On the 23d of 
the Sixth month he embarked to return to Philadelphia. 
The other passengers were Jonathan Dickinson, wife, and 
infant son, and Benjamin Allen. On board were seven 
mariners, twelve negroes, and one Indian girl. They 
had calms for many days, loss of an anchor, and devia- 
tions from their proper course, caused by the master's 
fears of encountering the French fleet. On the 18th of 
Seventh month the master had his leg broken, and the 



16 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

Indian girl died. A northeast storm set in on the 22d. 
which, early on the morning of the 23d, drove the vessel 
on the coast of Florida. The storm subsided towards 
daylight, and they found themselves on a beach of sand, 
which was left bare by every receding wave. There 
were Robert Barrow, an aged man, who had been sick 
more than five months ; the captain, whose leg had been 
recently broken ; Benjamin Allen, who had been very ill 
most of the voyage ; a delicate woman and sick child, 
besides several others. 

They saw a countr}^ without trees, whose only vegeta- 
tion was the shrubby palmetto growing on the sand-hills. 
Under some of these bushes, which broke the violence of 
the wind, but gave no protection from the rain, they 
made a fire, and the invalids were placed around it. Most 
of the seamen and negroes were employed in carrying 
their chests and provisions on shore. 

While thus employed, two Indians rapidh' approached 
them, foaming with their exertions in running, and having 
Spanish knives in their hands. They each seized one of 
the seamen and dragged him towards the group by the 
fire. Some of the crew would have killed the assailants, 
but Jonathan Dickinson persuaded them to ofi"er no re- 
sistance, and advised them to put their trust in the Lord. 
He then, whilst the Indians stood looking with wild and 
furious countenances on the invalids, offered them some 
pipes and tobacco, which they eagerly seized and de- 
parted rapidly as they came. The Friends knew the In- 
dians of Florida were accounted cannibals, and cruel 
usage and painful death appeared before them. But 
some of them were favored to seek after and obtain a 
portion of deep, quiet retirement of mind, in which they 
were given some hope, for which in secret they blessed 
the name of the Lord, in whom was their only trust. 

Knowing that the Spanish nation had great influence 



ROBERT BARROW. 17 

over the Florida Indians, the greater part of the company 
agreed to endeavor to pass for Spaniards, one of the 
seamen being competent to act as spokesman in that 
language. But Robert Barrow could not assent to the 
falsehood. 

Soon great numbers of Indians arrived, and most of 
them commenced taking from the vessel all that remained 
in it, but the cacique or king, with about thirty others, 
rushed upon the little band who were quietly sitting 
around the fire. The Indians were armed like the first 
two who came, except the cacique, who had a bayonet. 
They cried out '' Nicholeer," meaning English, but were 
not understood, and the captives were silent. They then 
cried ^'Espania," Spanish, to which some of the seamen 
assented. During this time the little company sat calm 
and still, under the covering of the spirit of pra3^er ; when 
the cacique placed himself behind Jonathan Dickinson, 
and one of his band behind each of the other prisoners. 
Their knives were elevated, and they looked to their king, 
as if for a signal to commence the work of slaughter. 

They were at first loud in words, but the quietness of 
their prisoners seemed to afi'ect their minds, and they also 
became silent ; though they stood in the same threatening 
position for a quarter of an hour, their countenances had 
fallen. They then proceeded to open the chests, &c.,and 
divided the contents among themselves. They stripped 
of most of their clothing all the prisoners except R. Bar- 
row, the captain, and J. Dickinson's wife and child. 

The cacique appeared to feel some kindness towards 
them, and at his suggestion they erected a tent, and 
gathered some leaves to lie on. They endeavored to 
obtain permission from the king to pass northward alonr; 
the beach, desiring to reach St. Augustine, but he said 
no, they should go southward with him. The Indians 



18 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

seemed to doubt the prisoners being Spaniards, and often 
asked if they were not " Nicholeer ; '' on the 25th the king 
addressed the question to Robert Barrow, who answered 
in the affirmative. On this the company were stripped of 
most of the little clothing they had previously been 
allowed to retain. The prisoners were then ordered to 
march. One of the negroes was allowed to assist the 
captain, but J. Dickinson's wife was obliged to carry her 
child, each of the others being laden with the spoil. 
Their course was south, and for five miles they waded 
through deep sand under an oppressive sun. 

They were then ferried across an inlet to the Indian 
town, where they passed the night. On the 26th the little 
band were gathered into silence, and some of them, as at 
sundry other times, were favored to feel the presence of 
the Lord in the midst of them. On this occasion, R. 
Barrow was much favored in testimony, and also in sup- 
plication, that if it was his Heavenly Father's will, they 
might be preserved from the perils around them. It was 
a season of refreshing and strengthening. The heart of 
the cacique was softened, and he told the prisoners they 
might depart, which they did 28th of Seventh month, 
the cacique protecting them to the last. He furnished 
a boat and a small stock of provisions for the invalids 
and weak ones. 

After various dangers, especiall}^ from a rough sea, they 
landed and passed the night of the 29th on shore, and 
met those of their companions who had come b}^ land. 

On the 30th, great numbers of Indians from St. Lucia, 
came fiercely upon them, crying '' Xicholeer ; ' ' all who had 
any clothing were quickly stripped of it ; the Indians ap- 
peared much enraged, and drew their arrows, but sud- 
denly became calm, and R. Barrow, J. Dickinson, his wife 
and child, were sent in a canoe over an inlet into the town. 
The Indians there seemed even more enraged than the 



EGBERT BARROW* 19 

others. Those who had rowed them over, spfang into the 
water to save themselves. Arrows were shot towards 
them, but the wife of the cacique and some others inter- 
ceded for the lives of the prisoners. 

They were taken on shore, when a great contest arose 
among the Indians, some wishing to kill, others to save 
them. Many arrows were shot ; J. Dickinson's wife re- 
ceived several severe blows, and one Indian offered to 
cut her throat, but on the interference of her husband 
desisted. A handful of sand was thrust into the mouth 
of the babe, but the wife of the cacique rescued them. 

The chief Indians held a council, at the close of 
which some articles by way of clothing were given to 
the prisoners. 

Eighth month 1st. The cacique and women appeared 
kind, but they were told they should be taken to the next 
town, in which was a company of" Xicholeers" who were 
to be killed. 

At ten o'clock at night, they were hurried away, with 
an Indian for a guide, while men and boj^s followed them 
for miles, pelting them as they went. The night was 
cold, but the day very hot, and they suffered much from 
fatigue, exhaustion, and want of water. At length they 
met the cacique of the town of Jece, which they were 
approaching. He appeared kind, said he would be their 
friend, and send them to Augustine. When they entered 
his town, he brought water and washed R. Barrow's feet, 
which had suffered grievously from stumps and stones on 
the way ; there were many holes in them in which a finger 
might be laid. On the 3d the cacique left them to de- 
mand a share of the money he understood was raised 
from the wreck of their vessel. 

Then a storm of unusual fury occurred, which drove 
the sea into the town, and forced the inhabitants to leave 



20 



GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



it. For several days the prisoners had no food or fresh 
water. The infant received sustenance from Indian 
women, which sustained its life. 

On the 1 1th the cacique returned ; he appeared incensed 
against his prisoners, and on being reminded of his prom- 
ise to send them to St. Augustine, made many excuses. 
At length concluding to go thither himself, he consented 
to take one of the company — the seaman who spoke 
Spanish — with him. They left on the 18th. Food was 
scarce, and the prisoners suffered much from hunger ; they 
would pick up the gills and entrails of fish, and thank- 
fully drank the water in which the Indians had boiled 
their fish. Yet through all, the confidence of some did 
not fail ; they quietly trusted that the Lord would work 
their deliverance. 

On the 2d of Ninth month the old cacique returned, ac- 
companied by twelve Spaniards, sent by the governor of 
Augustine, who, having heard of shipwrecks, feared they 
might be of vessels he had recentl}^ despatched; and he 
sent this force to protect the crews, with orders to their 
captain to save those who had escaped from the wrecks, 
of whatever country they might be. The crew of another 
shipwrecked vessel was also at Jece. On the 3d, R. Bar- 
row and thirteen others, accompanied by four Indians, 
set out in a boat for Augustine ; they had been two days 
without food, when they were overtaken by those of the 
two wrecks they had left behind them, but they could 
spare them only a few berries ; all, during this journey, 
were frequently two days without anything to eat. On 
the 10th the}^ passed a town where, their Spanish guide 
informed them, the shipwrecked crew of a Dutch vessel 
had been killed and eaten twelve months before. The 
weather became very cold, and being obliged to encamp 
out at night, though they made large fires, they sufl*ered 



ROBERT BARROW. 21 

severely. On the 13th thej^ were forced to wade to their 
boats, and after going two leagues in them, were landed 
in a marsh, through which they had to pass a mile, and 
then walk five or six leagues to the residence of a Spanish 
sentinel. The northwest wind was violent, and the 
stoutest thought they could not survive that day. After 
going two miles, Benjamin Allen became stiff, his speech 
failed, and he began to foam at the mouth. J. Dickinson 
ran on several miles to endeavor to obtain help, but it 
was too late. When R. Barrow came to the place where he 
was laid, he stopped and spoke to him ; he was too far 
gone to answer, but he cried piteously. Five of the com- 
pany perished that day, four of whom were well in the 
morning. 

J. Dickinson, his wife and child, reached the sentinel's 
house about an hour after nightfall ; B. Barrow in less 
than two hours afterward. Some of the company missed 
the house and travelled thirty-six hours without inter- 
mission. Those who reached the house were in great 
pain, their feet extremely bruised, the skin entirely off, 
and a mass of sand and blood caked to them. After a 
night of suffering they were forced to proceed, though 
the wind was high as the previous day. The house of the 
next sentinel was on the north side of an inlet. He came 
across in a canoe for them, would not suffer them to enter 
his house, but caused them to build a fire under the lee 
of it ; in half an hour gave each a cup of cassena, and 
two quarts of Indian corn to be divided among all, then 
bade them depart to the next sentinel's house, one league 
farther. There they were kindly received, and furnished 
with a plentiful repast. 

Next day a canoe arrived for them, sent by the gov- 
ernor of Augustine. The day was cold, and the company 
in a suffering condition, but two hours before sundown 



22 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY- FIVE. 

they reached Augustine, and were taken to the governor's 
house. He sent Mary Dickinson to his ^vife's apartments 
and kindly cared for the others. They were quartered 
among the inhabitants, who were very kind to them, and 
clothed them with the best they could procure. R. Bar- 
row was suffering severely from diarrhoea, which reduced 
him A ery low. 

After signing an obligation to pay for the provisions 
and clothing thej had purchased, they parted from the 
governor with mutually kind feelings ; and 29th of Ninth 
month, with a captain and six soldiers, sailed to Santa 
Cruz, where they passed the night, being supplied by the 
Indians with such provisions as they needed. 

On the 2d of Tenth month they reached the town of 
St. Mary, where they made such provision as they could 
for their journey to Carolina. They left St. Mary on the 
5th, with seven large canoes, seven Spaniards, and more 
than thirty Indians to pilot and row them. After much 
wet and cold travelling, during which R. Barrow could 
neither be made warm, nor obtain natural rest, they 
reached the first settlement in Carolina on the 2 2d. 

This belonged to Richard Bennet. "^ho received them 
very kindly, provided for them plentifully and treated 
their Spanish conductors with great hospitality. On the 
24th they reached the country-seat of Governor Blake, 
who showed them much kindness, and sent R. Barrow to 
the house of his neighbor, Margaret Bammers, an ancient 
Friend, who, he said, would be careful of him and nurse 
him. The others went to Charleston, where they sepa- 
rated. 

R. Barrow continued very weak. Earlj^ in First month, 
1697, he was taken into Charleston, where he lay at the 
house of Mary Cross, In a letter to his wife he wntes 
thus of his kind hostess :-«- 



ROBERT BARROW. 23 

^^ At last we arrived at Ashley River ; and it pleased 
God I had the great fortune to have a good nurse, one 
whose name you have heard of, a Yorkshire woman, born 
within two miles of York ; her maiden name was Mary 
Fisher, she that spake to the great Turk ; afterwards 
William Bayley's wife. She is now my landlady and 
nurse. She is a widow of a second husband ; her name is 
now Mary Cross."* 

R. Barrow was anxious to reach Philadelphia, and 
though the captain who was to take J. Dickinson and 
family, was unwilling to receive him on board in his weak 
condition, his earnest entreaties prevailed. They em- 
barked First month 18th, and arrived 1st of Second 
month. Many Friends went on board to see R. Barrow, 
he being too weak from his disorder (which had been on 
him fourteen weeks) to be removed that night. His 
mind was strong, and he rejoiced to see his friends; ex- 
pressed great satisfaction that the Lord had granted his 
request to bring him to that place, that he might lay down 
his body there. Next day, having wrapped him in a 
blanket, and placed him in a hammock, divers Friends 
assisted in carrying him to the ^^ welling of Samuel Car- 
penter, where, having many of his friends around him, 
his heart seemed to overflow with gratitude to his 
Creator. He said, '' My heart is yet strong, and my 
memory and understanding good." He continued in a 
sweet, thankful frame of mind, saying, " The Lord has 
been very good to me all along, unto this very day ; and 
this very morning hath sweetly refreshed me." ^' It is 
a good thing to have a conscience void of offence towards 

^' Mary Cross was married to her second husband, John Cross, 
of London, in the year 1078. They emigrated to South Carolina, 
where, it is supjjosed, she passed the remainder of her eventful 
life. 



24 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

God, and towards men." '' The Lord, in bringing me 
hither hath given me the desire of my heart, and if I 
die here I am A^ery well satisfied, and believe my wife 
will be well satisfied also, for as the Lord gave her to me, 
and gave me to her, even so have we given one another 
up." '' The Lord is wdth me and all is w^ell ; I have nothing 
of guilt upon me, and have nothing to do but to die, and 
if I die now, I shall die like an innocent child ; " — with 
much more of the same import, and he gave much solid 
advice to his friends. On the 4th he dictated a letter to 
his wife, after which he seemed gradually to sink. A 
friend who stood by his bedside, remarking in a low 
voice, he believed that Robert w^as not sensible, he 
immediately said, '' I have my senses very perfect, and 
thank the Lord that He hath not left me, but preserved 
me in my understandifig to this moment." The last 
sentence understood was, " God is good still." Then, 
after lying quietly for a time, he gently passed away, 
Second month 4th, 169Y. 

JOHN LEIFCHILD. 

John Leifchild was formerly " minister of an Indepen- 
dent Chapel in England." He relates the following as a 
singular lapse of memory w^hich once befell him, and 
which he never before or afterwards experienced. 
^' When I rose from sleep, I could not recollect any por- 
tion of the discourse, which I had prepared on the day 
before; and what was most strange, I could not even 
remember the text of the prepared sermon. I was per- 
plexed, and walked out before breakfast in Kensington 
Gardens. While there, a particular text occurred to my 
mind ; and my thoughts seemed to dwell upon it so much 
that I resolved to preach from it^ without further attempt- 



JAMES SIMPSON. 25 

ing to recall what I had prepared, — a thing which I had 
never ventured to do, during all my niinistr}^ From 
this text I preached, and it was, 'Weeping may endure 
for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.' I preached 
with great liberty, and in the course of the sermon, I 
quoted the lines, — 

* Beware of desperate steps ! the darkest day — 
Live till to-morrow— will have passed away.' 

^' I afterwards learned that a man in despair had that 
very morning gone to the Serpentine to drown himself in 
it. For this purpose he had filled his pockets with stones, 
hoping to sink at once. Some passengers, however, dis- 
turbed him, while on the brink, and he returned to Ken- 
sington, intending to drown himself in the dusk of the 
evening. On passing my Chapel, he saw a number of 
people crowding into it, and thought he would join them 
in order to pass away the time. His attention was riv- 
eted to the sermon, which seemed to be in part com- 
posed for him ; and when he heard me quote the lines 
alluded to, he resolved to abandon his suicidal inten- 
tions." 



JAMES SIMPSON. 

James Simpson, son of John and Hannah Simpson, 
was born in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, on the 19th of 
the Third month, 1743. His father died when he was 
about three years of age. During his minority, he was 
jnuch exposed to raw and profane companions, and 
seldom, if ever, had an opportunity of attending relig. 
ious meetings of the Society of Friends, although he had 
a birthright in the Society. His mother married a Pres- 



26 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY- FIVE. 

byterian, and her children Tvere brought up under Ms 
care. 

James learned the trade of a cooper, and after the 
marriage of his elder brother, John, went to reside with 
him, nearly four miles from Buckingham Meeting, of 
which he was a member, and of which he became a dili- 
gent attender when in health. Having passed through 
deep bai)tisms, he had humbly to acknowledge the Divine 
goodness, in manifesting the gospel light to his be- 
nighted soul, when almost sunk into a state of despair. 
This he compared to the light of the sun, breaking from 
thick clouds, and darting its rays through a glass window 
into a room (which in the dark, might have been supposed 
to be clean and in order), discovering not only all that 
was out of order, but even the cobwebs, the spiders and 
the insects that had taken up an abode therein, manifest- 
ing that there was much to be done within the chamber. 

The Divine Light also showed him an extensive pros- 
pect of labor without ; and he felt his soul raised to an 
ecstasy of hope and joy, in an evidence that he was re- 
ceived into favor with his Heavenly Father. In the 
expandings of Divine love, his vision was extended to 
almost all parts of the country ; and his heart being 
filled with affection to his fellow-creatures, he felt as 
though he was commissioned to preach the gospel of 
salvation to them. A day and. place, he remarked, not 
to be forgotten by him ! 

From this time he believed that he was anointed, and, 
in due season, he was called to the gospel ministry ; soon 
after which he had a dream that sealed deep instruction 
on his mind. He thought he was standing b}^ the meet- 
ing-house at Buckingham, and saw a number of iron 
pots standing out, open to the firmament ; he saw the}^ 
were covered with rust, and there was much rubbish 



JAMES SIMPSON. 



27 



within them. As he looked at them, a person ^Vho stood 
by told him it was his business to cleanse and scour 
these pots. James felt himself weak, and told the person 
he could not do it, — that his strength was not sufficient 
to scour one of them. The person told him he was not 
required to do more than his strength would w^arrant ; 
but that he must begin at one, do something at it, and if 
he could not finish it at one time, leave it, and try it 
again; and so on, working at them from one time to 
another ; and his strength would be increased in propor- 
tion to his labor, till he would be enabled to finish the 
work that was given him to do. 

Being of a weakly constitution, and the trade of a 
cooper not agreeing with his health, and also being poor, 
he was often much discouraged, fearing (as he expressed) 
that he should become chargeable to the parish. He 
therefore engaged, with a partner, in a small retail store 
in Buckingham. While thus employed, his ministry 
being approved, he joined with several Friends in a 
religious visit to the families of members within the 
limits of Buckingham Monthly Meeting. Previouslj^ to 
entering on the service, he had purchased a hogshead of 
rum for sale. In the course of the visits, while sitting in 
a family at Plumstead, the hogshead of rum came before 
him, with such melancholy reflections on the mischief it 
might occasion, as produced much discouragement, and 
a desire to relinquish the service he was engaged in, and 
return home. This desire he expressed to his friends, but 
they not being willing to part with him, he accompanied 
them to several places ; but his uneasiness continued, 
and the hogshead of rum being constantl}^ before him, 
he was entirely silent. Some of his companions spoke 
a few words at some places, but at length all vocal ser- 
vice closed, and they sat in several families in silence. 



28 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

A state of general depression having at length taken 
place among them, they took an opportunity together to 
search for the cause. James again requested to be re- 
leased, saying he was a Jonah aboard the ship. Oliver 
Paxson then fixing his eyes on him, inquired his reasons, 
saying : '' The eyes of the people are upon thee ; if thou 
desert us, we cannot proceed without thee to satisfac- 
tion." James then informed them what he had done, 
and how the hogshead of rum was continually before 
him. He was asked what he wished to do, and told them 
it now appeared to be his duty to go home and tell his 
partner to dispose of that rum to such only as would not 
be likely to make a bad use of it, and that no more spir- 
ituous liquors should be purchased in his name ; which 
his friends agreeing to, he went home and made arrange- 
ments with his partner to that effect. He then felt his 
mind relieved, and proceeded on the family visits to sat- 
isfaction. From this time he steadily bore a testimony 
against the selling and unnecessary use of spirituous 
liquors. 

As it was customary to keep ardent spirits for sale in 
country stores, and the use of it was at that time gen- 
eral among Friends and others, it is probable these cir- 
cumstances might have discouraged him from continuing 
in the business of a storekeeper. 

He next undertook brush-making ; but the want of a 
market for his manufactures was discouraging. Still he 
was anxious to do something to gain an honest liveli- 
hood, and often waded through deep discouragement of 
mind ; under which, he said, he frequently put up his pe- 
titions to his great Master, to open his way and show 
him what he should do. And such was his humiliation, 
that he was willing to exert his little bodily strength, 
without regarding how mean the eInployme^t might ap« 



JAMEg SlMPgON. 



29 



pear in the sight of the people. While under this close 
trial, he had a remarkable dream, in which he was in- 
structed in the whole art of raising broom corn, and 
making brooms ; and considering it a kind interposition 
of Providence on his behalf, he resolved to follow the 
directions thus communicated, and clearly impressed on 
his mind. He therefore procured seed, planted it, nursed 
and raised the broom corn, prepared it as directed, and 
in due time was able to realize the substantial broom. 
Pleased with his success, he took a small load of them to 
Philadelphia, where he exhibited them in the market for 
sale. He waited some time for purchasers without much 
success, when he noticed that an oysterman, w^ho was 
travelling the street with his wheelbarrow, and making 
proclamation of what he had to dispose of, had cus- 
tomers ; a thought occurred, that he was standing there 
idle, because his pride would not suffer him to do like- 
wise ; he therefore took a bundle of brooms on his 
shoulder ; and as he walked the street oifering them for 
sale, was met by Nicholas Wain, who accosted him with 
his usual pleasantry, though with marks of surprise at 
his employment, and said it would never do for James 
Simpson to be peddling brooms about the street. James 
replied the occupation was honest, and the method he 
had adopted for the sale appeared necessary. Nicholas 
finally purchased his brooms, but advised him to follow 
some other business. James could not agree to that, so 
he pursued the broom-making, in addition to brush- 
making ; and by these means supported himself hy the 
labor of his own hands. 

In the Second month, 1789, James Simpson took a 
certificate from Buckingham to Horsham Monthly Meet- 
ing, and at the Billet (now called Hatborough) lie pursued 
the business of making brooms and brushes, — carried ou 



30 



GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



some coopering business, and kept earthenware, with a 
few other articles for sale. 

In the Tenth month, 1190, he married Martha Shoe- 
maker, a widow. His last residence w^as at Frankford. 

He at one time observed to a Friend, that he appre- 
hended his time was drawing to a close, and he had 
thought of leaving some notes of particular visitations 
and divine openings, which he had experienced in his 
youthful days, saying, he believed his path in some re- 
spects had been singular. He mentioned many subjects, 
and proposed that his friends should at a future time com- 
mit them to w^riting (from his dictation), which was 
promised, but postponed^ and never accomplished. A 
memoir of him has been published, but it is cause for 
regret that his concern was not attended to. 

In the character ot James Simpson were some singular- 
ities and eccentricities, yet through and over all these the 
purity and originality of his mind were often displayed 
in a remarkable manner; evincing, with clear demonstra- 
tion, that the cause of truth and righteousness was dear 
to his heart. The instructive application of his parables, 
similes, and metaphors, drawn from common occurrences, 
from natural things, and familiar objects, was peculiarly 
impressive. When in his usual health, he manifested a 
fear of death, but at the last all fear was taken away. A 
friend, calling to see him, found him lying on his bed. 
James said he had been very poorly, but then felt easier; 
the friend left him, but was soon recalled, when James 
appeared to be composed, and said to him," I believe I 
am going to leave you." A few minutes after he said to 
his wife, " My dear, I am going to leave you." His pulse 
being sunk, it then appeared probable to his friends that 
his close w^as near. He supplicated that if his day's 
work was done, his bands might be loosed^ and he re- 



JAMES SIMPSON. 31 

ceived into rest, and not continued to be a burden to his 
friends. Shortly after, he requested to be turned over, 
then said, "It is done! It is done!" — after which he 
breathed a few times, then quietly departed, on the 9th 
of Fourth month, 1811, over 68 years of age. 

James Simpson was at times subject to deep dejection, 
when he thought himself unable to do anything, but even 
when he felt most debased, he would, under religious ex- 
ercise, be as lively in testimony as in times of more 
cheerfulness. Indeed, it was remarked he was frequently 
most favored, when raised from one of those seasons of 
deep depression. He once went to Philadelphia, with a 
certificate, to visit the families of Friends there, and 
Sarah Harrison, who was under a like concern, uniting 
with him in his prospect, David Bacon, an experienced 
elder, was appointed to accompan}^ them. On the last 
day of their visits they were to commence with the family 
of Governor Dickinson, whose wife and daughters were 
members. During the previous night James became 
much depressed, and thought he could not go to the 
Governor's house ; so in the morning he determined to go 
home and leave the other friends to perform that visit. 
Thinking, however, it would be dishonorable not to in- 
form David Bacon of his purpose, he went to his house, 
with his horse saddled and the baggage on. After fast- 
ening his horse, he went in and told David he had come 
to bid him farewell. "Farewell!" said David, " wh}^, 
where art thou going?" " Home," said James. " Thou 
must not go ; where is thy horse ?" " It is at the door." 
David told his man to take the horse back to the stable 
and have it taken care of. He then took James with him 
to Sarah Harrison's, and they all proceeded to Governor 
Dickinson's house. On the way they were obliged to 
keep a constant watch on James, lest he should desert 



32 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

them. Just before reaching the Governor's house, James 
clapped his hands together, earnestly exclaiming, " If I 
live through this day, I shall live forever." When they 
entered the house, the Governor was not present. James 
sat down, threw his hat under the chair, and placed his 
head between his knees. After some time the Governor 
slid quietly in, and James soon began slowty to raise his 
head, and commenced a discourse which, for religious 
weight and instruction, Sarah Harrison thought she had 
never heard excelled. 

James Simpson, while engaged in religious service 
within the compass of Concord Quarterlj^ Meeting, ap- 
pointed a meeting to be held at Providence ; but after 
notice thereof had been given, an attack of his constitu- 
tional depression came on, and he was dipped into a 
state of self-loathing, and so stripped of all feeling of 
ability for service that he concluded he could not go to 
the meeting, and must go home. His companion, finding 
his efforts to change James' purpose unavailing, proposed 
they should remain where they were that night, adding, 
that in the morning, if it should seem best, would be time 
enough to set out for home. The morning came, but it 
was still night to James ; his depression continued, and 
his desire to go home was not lessened. His friend then 
proposed that they should sit down together, to seek in 
silence and quietude, the Master's will in the matter. As 
they sat a precious solemnity fell upon them, and after a 
time James rose, exclaiming in a cheerful, thankful man- 
ner, '' I can go to the meeting now! The Master has 
promised to send his servant Eli Yarnall there to pray 
for me." 

They went to the meeting-house, and the people gath- 
ered. After they were settled, Eli Yarnall came in. He 
was soon bowed in vocal supplication, that the Lord 



JAMES SIMPSON. 33 

would be pleased to support and comfort his afflicted 
servant. His concern seemed to be confined to the 
strengthening of his sorrowful fellow-laborer in the gos- 
pel, who had been in such a low place. James was then, 
with renewed faith in the sufliciency of Divine grace to 
qualify him for the service called for at his hand, enabled 
to travail in spirit for the everlasting well-being of those 
present ; and he was soon raised on his feet and enabled 
to preach the gospel of life and salvation with fervency 
and power. 

At the meeting, Eli Yarnall spoke of having been 
dragged there that day. He was at work in a field, when 
he felt an impression on his mind, as though one had 
spoken to him, that he must go to Providence Meeting 
that day. He was startled.; no information of the ax> 
pointment had reached him, and he said to himself, '^It 
is not the day of the week on which Providence Meeting 
is held." He reasoned against the impression, but after 
some internal conflict submitted to it, and went to his 
house. His wife observed to him it was not the day on 
which Providence Meeting was held, but faithful to the 
impression of duty he went, the time he had spent in 
reasoning against it causing him to be late at meeting. 

SERMON BY JAMES SIMPSON. 

(A few months previous to his decease.) 

^' What I am going to relate is but a simple story, and 
it is very probable some of 3^ou may have heard me tell it 
before; but it has taken such possession of my mind, 
that I thought I would just drop it for your considera- 
tion. When I was a young man, there lived in our 
neighborhood a Presbyterian who was universally re- 
ported to be a very liberal man, and uncommonly upright 



34 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his 
larm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give 
good measure, over good, rather more than could be re- 
quired of him. One of his friends observing him fre- 
quently doing so, questioned himwhyhe did it, told him 
he gaA'e too much, and said it could not be to his own 
advantage. Xow, my friends, mark the answer of this 
Presbyterian : ' Grod Almighty has permitted me but one 
journey through this world, and when I am gone I cannot 
return to rectify mistakes.' Think of this, friends ; but 
one journey through the world 1 The hours that are 
past are gone forever, and the actions in those hours can 
never be recalled ! I do not throw it out as a charge, 
nor mean to imply that any of a^ou are dishonest, but the 
words of this good Presbyterian have often impressed 
my mind, and, I think, in an instructive manner. But 
one journey ! We are allowed but one journey through 
the world, therefore let none of us say, ' My tongue is 
my own, I'll talk what I please ; my time is my own, I'll 
go where I please ; I can go to meeting, or, if the world 
calls me, I'll stay at home ; it's all my own.' Xow this 
won't do, friends. It is as impossible for us to live as 
we list, and then come here and worship, as it is for a 
lamp to burn without oil. It is utteiiy impossible. And 
I was thinking what a droll composition man is ; he is 
composed of dollars, cents, newspapers, &c., and bring- 
ing, as it were, the world on his back, he comes here to 
perform worship, or at least he would have it appear so. 
Xow friends, I just drop it before we part, for your con- 
sideration. Let each one try himself, and see how it is 
with his own soul.'' 



JAMES SIMPSON. 35 

JAMES SIMPSOIN" AND A DOCTOR. 

The following circumstance was related by James 
Simpson after his return from a religious visit to some of 
the Eastern States. It occurred whilst he was travelling 
in Rhode Island. 

'^ I met with a young doctor, whom I took to be a 
deist. I asked him if he was not a deist, and he frankly 
acknowledged he w^as. I then remarked to him that I 
supposed it was of no use to to talk with him about the 
Scriptures, for he did not believe them. His answer was, 
' No, sir, I do not.' ^ Well,' replied I, 'as it is reason 
thou buildest uj)on, render me a reason for thy disbelief.' 
That he thought he could readily do, 'for,' said he, 'there 
are so many foolish, nonsensical passages in them, that 
it is beneath a man of good understanding to believe 
them.' I then requested him to single out one of those 
foolish passages, and the one he fixed upon was the 
woman being cured of a grievous disease by touching the 
hem of our Saviour's garment ; which he considered fool- 
ish nonsense, and that it was beneath a man of good 
understanding to believe such tales. 

" I then told him I supposed he was well acquainted 
with the power of electricity. ' Yes,' he said, ' he was.' 
' Well,' said I, ' supposing thou had never seen or heard 
tell of it, and a stranger, as I am, should come from 
another country and tell thee he could fill thee so full of 
fire, that another touching thy garment, the fire would fiy 
out of thee into him ; would st thou not think it a foolish 
tale, that was not worth thy notice ?' After some pause, 
he said he thought he should. I then remarked to him, 
' If a man can be filled so full of fire that, another touch- 
ing his garment, the fire will go into him (as this we 
know to be the case), why not admit the Saviour of the 



S6 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

world to be so filled with heavenly virtue that, another 
touching His garment, virtue should go out of Him into 
them? at which he sat a considerable time silent; and 
finding he was in a better state to hear me^ I asked him 
this question : ' Hast thou never been sitting in thy room, 
thinking little or nothing (not nothing, because thoughts 
are never quite still), and all at once something alarms 
thee — perhaps it is a gun shot off out yonder — and so 
soon as that sound strikes thy ear, thy eye is turned to 
see ; and when thy eye discovers it, thy nerves and mem- 
bers are at command to start up and go. Now, as thou 
art a physician, and pretends to understand the human 
frame, render me a reason (as it is reason thou buildest 
upon) of this intelligence from the ear to the eye, and 
so on to thy other faculties and members.' His answer 
was, ' Oh, sir, that is out of my power.' 

*' Finding him now in a better state to hear than to 
talk, I went on from one thing to another, till I beat him 
as effectually out of his deism, I believe, as ever a man 
was beaten out of anything. And I thought he loved 
me as well as ever he loved any man, for he followed me 
several hundred miles, and assisted me in appointing 
meetings where there were no Friends." 



A DKEAM OF OLIVER PAXSOK. 

Oliver Paxson, a valuable Elder, who resided in Sole- 
bury, Bucks County, had a dream from which he derived 
instruction. He thought he was from home, and, being 
about to return, had a stream of water to pass over. On 
reaching the crossing-place, he found a large serpent, 
who told him he had alwa3^s been his enemy, and now he 
was determined he should not pass there. Oliver said 



ABEL HAUGHTON. 37 

that was his way home, and he must go through ; but 
the serpent still opposed him, and in discouragement he 
turned away. But thoughts of the distress his family 
would experience, should he not return, again strength- 
ened his resolution, and he determined to return and go 
through. He found now that the serpent had received a 
reinforcement of its kind, and the obstacles to crossing 
were more formidable than before. But the thoughts of 
home prompted him, and saying, '' Go through I will," 
he made a cut with his whip at the serpents, who all 
slunk away. The conclusion he arrived at from this 
dream w^as, '' Turn from duty, and fresh impediments 
will arise; resist the devil and he will flee." 

Oliver Paxson was a faithful man in every condition 
in life, and peculiarly serviceable in religious society. 
He departed in peace, Tenth month 29th, 181T, aged t6 
years. 

" He was a man who stood as a pillar in the church, 
and as a watchman on the walls of Zion, zealous in the 
support of the primitive principles and testimonies" of 
the Religious Society of Friends. 

ABEL HAUGHTON. 

(Pronounced Hooten.) 

Thomas Watson, of New England, a minister of the 
Society of Friends, who had been a soldier in the Ilevo- 
lutionary War, went in the night season, to the window 
of Abel Haughton, and cried out, '' Abel, Abel ! if the 
light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that dark- 
ness!" Many years afterwards, when Abel Haughton, 
who was a talented and highly gifted man, had long been 
an approved minister, he through unwatchfulness suf- 
ftred himself to become very much iuterested in politics, 




38 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

and united with the New Lights (as some seceders from 
the Society of Friends were called). At length, about 
the 3^ear 1814, he took a contract to make one thousand 
pairs of shoes for soldiers at that time engaged in war ; 
and soon after fell away so far as to become terribly pro- 
fane. Some time after that, he was affected with '' shak- 
ing palsy ;" could not feed himself, and shook so much 
that it was very difficult for another to feed him. But 
his wife would stand by him, with one hand wiping the 
saliva, which was constantly streaming from his mouth, 
and with the other giving him food from a spoon, while 
he constantly assailed her with dreadful imprecations. 
This state of things had continued three years, when 
through the power of Divine Grace, he was brought to a 
sense of his condition. He sent for the overseers of the 
meeting of which he had been a member, told them they 
did right to disown him, and appeared very penitent. 
After he had sent for them a second time, the Monthly' 
Meeting at Lynn, Massachusetts, appointed a committee 
to visit him ; one member of which had previously felt a 
concern to do so. During their interview with him, he 
was very deeply affected. The committee were convinced 
that he was truly penitent and humble, and made a favor- 
able report to the Monthly Meeting. One Friend, who 
could not unite with the report, was requested to visit 
Abel ; he did so, and at the next Monthly Meeting said, 
"• If any are not satisfied, let them visit him as I did." 
A. Haughton was received again into membership, and 
was so entirely changed, that his wife said she was paid 
for all she had suffered. He lived two or three years, 
but was unable to go out. 



ACCOUNT OF TWO FRIENDS IN SCOTLAND. 39 



ACCOUNT OF TWO FRIENDS IN SCOTLAND. 

In the early part of the eighteenth century, a man and 
his wife, members of the Religious Society of Friends, 
who resided in some part of Scotland, having by their 
industry saved some money over and above their neces- 
sary support, the woman Friend said to her husband, in 
reference to this their saving : '' We must consider how 
we may make a right use of this overplus we are favored 
with." They accordingly consulted together on the 
subject, concluding if this was not properly attended to, 
a blast might come on their future endeavors for further 
supplies of necessaries ; and at length concluded they 
could do no better than build a meeting-house with it, 
there not being one in the place where they resided. 

They accordingly went to work ; the woman Friend 
trod the clay of which the walls were composed, with her 
bare feet ; a window was made north and south, but not 
of glass ; only wooden shutters to cover each of the holes 
left to admit light, and when the wind was on the north 
side of the house, the south shutter was to be opened, and 
so again reversed. This work was completed by their 
own labor and their savings, which amounted only to the 
sum of five pounds, as they had but little more to purchase 
than doors, window-frames, rafters, and shutters, with 
boards for seats, the supporters of which were made, like 
the walls of the building, with mud. 

Two women Friends travelling in the work of the min- 
istry, being that way, had a meeting in tliis nieetinu- 
house ; report says, one of the most favored to them they 
remembered to have ever had. 

They returned home with tlie proprietors of this 
humble place of worship, and gave the following report 



40 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

of their entertainment : on taking their seats, a wooden 
bowl of crowdy, which is oat-meal boiled in water with 
vegetables, served up as soup, w^as given to each of them. 
After the meal was over the man entertained his guests 
with the following narrative, sajdng : ''He had a good 
fortune wdth his wdfe, for he had been taking out of it 
ever since they had been together, and 3^et he could not 
perceive it was any ways lessened." This good fortune 
which he had with his wife, he informed them, consisted 
of six shillings and eight pence, with which he bought 
the brock, as he called it, meaning the pot in which the 
crowdy had been boiled, they had been partaking of. 



WILLIAM TUCHOLD. 

(Pronounced Touchhold.) 

William Tuchold resided in Barmen, near Elberfeld, on 
the riv^ Wupper, Prussia. He w^as a shoemaker, and 
had from eleven to thirteen men w^orking for him. In 
1830 he became convinced of the principles of Friends, 
and changed his dress, putting on a plain coat and hat, 
in consequence of which his customers immediately left 
him ; even those who had shoes in his shop to be mended 
took them away, so that he was obliged to discharge his 
men, and in course of a week had no work to do. His 
wife and her family, who were Presbyterians, were very 
much opposed to him, calling Friends anti-Christians. 
And thinking W^illiam would not have enough to suj^port 
his family, his wife's father and her brother came to take 
her home with them. They packed up all the goods she 
had brought there, leaving onl}^ a table and settee. When 
all w^ere in the wagon, they told her to bring the children 
and come with them. W^illiam was seated on the settee, 



WILLIAM TUCHOLD. 41 

trying to compose his mind and look to his Maker. His 
wife took the children, but looked back from the door and 
said, '^ William, is it possible to see me and the .children 
go away?" He answered, ^^ Thou know'st I love thee, 
and that I suffer these things for the love of my Saviour. 
If thou lovest father and mother more than me, thou wilt 
have to go with them, for I love Christ more than thee 
and my children. ' He that loveth father or mother 
more than me, is not worthy of me, and he that loveth son 
or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.' " She 
immediately returned, fell on his neck, and said nothing 
but death should separate them ; she was willing to suffer 
all things with him for Truth's sake. She then told her 
father she could not go, he might take all the goods, she 
could not leave William, but would stay with him to live 
or die. Her father and brother, though very much per- 
plexed by the change, drove off with the goods. But the 
horses would not pull together, and the goods fell off. 
Feeling much distressed, they finally concluded to turn 
back ; and when they had done so, the horses worked 
well, and the goods staid on until they again arrived at 
the house, where they unloaded them all. William said 
he rejoiced in his heart that he had been enabled to give 
up all, wife and children, for Truth's sake, and it was 
marvellous in his eyes, that after all was given up, the 
Master had given all back. His wife's family became 
reconciled to him. He commenced another business, and 
prospered in it. All in that place who became convinced 
of Friends 'principles, had to suffer more for plainness of 
dress and address than any other of their testimonies. 



42 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



DOCTOR PAYS OX. 

Dr. Payson used the following illustration in familiar 
conversation with a friend : '* God deals somewhat with 
us as we do with our children. When I am in my study 
engaged in writing or meditation, if 1 hear one of my 
children cry, I do not go to it immediately. The occa- 
sion of its tears may be a mere momentary trouble, 
capable of being removed by others, or from which it 
may be diverted by some toys. But if its cries continue^ 
and I find that nothing but my presence will pacify it, 
I leave everything and go to it. So when the children 
of God begin to cry for His presence, He does not answer 
them immediately, but waits to see whether the cry is 
repeated, and if He finds that His child will be satisfied 
with nothing but his Father's presence, this blessing will 
not be long withheld.'' 

During the last illness of Dr. Payson, a friend coming 
into his room, remarked familiarly, '^ "Well, I am sorry 
to see you lying here on 3'our back.'' ^* Do you not 
know what God j^uts us on our backs for?'' said Dr. 
Payson smilingly. ^' Xo.'' was the answer. " In order 
that we may look upward.'^ 

A friend said to him, '' I am not come to condole, but 
to rejoice with you, for it seems to me that this is no 
time for mourning.'' '' Well, I am glad to hear that," 
was the reply, ^' for it is not often that I am addressed 
in such a wa}'. The fact is, I never had less need of 
condolence, and yet everybody persists in ofiTering it ; 
whereas, when I was prosperous and well, and a successful 
preacher, and really needed condolence, they flattered 
and congratulated me." 

Toward the close of his life, Dr. Pavson observed that 



WILLIAM CROTCH. 43 

Christians might avoid much trouble and inconvenience, 
if they would only believe what they profess, that God 
is able to make them supremely happy in Himself, inde- 
pendently of all circumstances. " They imagine," he 
writes, *' that if such a dear friend were to die, or such 
and such blessings be removed, they should be miserable, 
whereas God can make them a thousand times happier 
without them. To mention my own case : God has been 
depriving me of one mercy after another ; but as one 
was removed. He has come in and filled up its place. 
Now when I am a cripple and not able to move, I am 
happier than ever I was in my life before, or ever expect 
to be ; and if I had believed this twenty years ago, I 
might have been spared much anxiety. If God had told 
me some time ago that He was about to make me as 
happy as I could be m this world, and then had told me 
that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, 
and removing me from my usual sources of enjoyment, 
I should have thought it a very strange mode of accom- 
plishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom 
manifest, even in this life." 

WILLIAM CROTCH. 

In uue year 1^95, William Crotch, of JSTeedham, in 
Suffolk, being on a religious visit to Friends, and at 
Margaret Kayner's house, Sunny Side, Eosendale, Lan- 
cashire, in conversation gave the following account of 
his convincement and the earl}^ part of his life. " I was 
brought up waiting-boy at a great inn in Norwich, the 
mistress thereof being my cousin, though I was not 
allowed to call her so ; and about the eleventh year of 
my age, a brother of mine, ten years older than ni3^solf, 
coming to our house, mentioned his liaving lately ])eou 



44 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

at a Quaker meeting, and related several particulars by 
way of ridicule to make sport among the servants. After 
hearing him, I said, 'Well, I will certainly go to the 
Quaker meeting next Sunday,' it being my turn to have 
liberty that day. When the day came I set out, but knew 
not which way to go, and was ashamed to ask any one; 
however, I ventured at last, and was told there was a 
Quaker funeral going just there, so I followed ; but when 
I came to the meeting-house, I felt such an awe upon my 
mind, and was seized with such trembling, that I dared 
not enter; and when all were seated, I looked in, and 
the Friends seemed to my vieiv as if sitting in paradise ; 
but I could not have had courage to have entered at all, 
had not the doorkeeper come and taken me by the hand, 
and seated me beside him. When I returned I told my 
brother I had been at Quaker meeting, and never had 
such feelings, nor was so comforted in my mind in any 
other place of worship in my life. ' Well,' said he lightly, 
4t's likely enough the boy will be a Quaker.' 

'^ From this time I continued to attend whenever I had 
liberty, till it came to the knowledge of my mistress, who 
was exceedingly disturbed at it, and made me promise 
to go to Peter's Church, or I should not go out at all; 
so I accordingly went just within the door, and then ran 
with all speed to the meeting, where I was abundantly 
favored, and confirmed in my resolution to persevere. 

"After a while, however, my mistress bethought her to 
examine me what the text was, and of this I could give 
no account, and durst not tell a lie, so I was put to the 
test and found out ; and much pains were taken both by 
herself and men who frequented the house, whom she 
emplo}' ed to induce me by any means to leave off going 
to the Quakers, but I never could be brought to that. 

''My father and mother also came and reasoned with 



WILLIAM CROTCH. 



45 



me much; my father being a sober man, used what argu- 
ments he could to induce me, but when he saw it was in 
vain, he threatened to leave me nothing, though he had 
some hundreds to dispose of; however, he lived to change 
his mind, and he left me the largest share, made me 
executor to his will, and said, 'William, I wish they 
were all Quakers. ' 

" My mistress took a pleasure in seeing me smart and 
I loved to be fine, but now it grew uneasy to me, and 
when I saw any women Friends in the street, or their 
children, I used to follow and admire them. I now 
wished much to live among Friends, so found out a 
shoemaker of that profession, and bespoke a pair of 
shoes, but I had not courage to speak upon the subject, 
till I went for them ; when, being a sixpence short, he 
said, 'I think I dare trust thee for the sixpence, thou 
looks a good honest lad.' So I took courage, and asked 
him if he could help me to a place among Friends. He 
said he thought he remembered seeing me at their meet- 
ings, and asked me if I loved to go to meetings? I an- 
swered, 'Yes, I do;' so he promised to mention me to 
some Friends, and soon after, three of them came to the 
inn. I rejoiced to see them, and they w^ere shown into a 
room. . . . They asked for my mistress, and upon talking 
a little with her concerning me, I heard her say, ' Indeed 
I have loved the boy as my own child, and been exceed- 
ingly grieved and distressed at his coming amongst you ; 
but now the time is come, that he is more fit for you than 
us.' And I was soon after received, at the age of thir- 
teen. I was some time footman to John Gurney, and 
afterwards apprenticed myself to a shoemaker, where I 
found that all Quakers were not alike, for I had a hard 
place, but the time got over. I remember one First day, 
when Rachel Wilson was to be at our meeting, I inviUHl 



46 GLEANINOS AT SEVENTH-FIVE. 

William Crane, a neighboring boy with whom I was in- 
timate, and whom I knew to be a solid, thoughtful youth, 
to go with me ; he did so, and we sat together; at which 
time he was so tendered and broken into tears, that I 
believe he was effectually reached ; and he abode with 
it, and is now an eminent minister and dear friend of 
mine in Norwich. 

'' My cousin, with whom I lived, is still living, and 
rejoices to see me. 

'^ When people are faithful to what is manifested to 
them to be right, way is made for them through what- 
ever difficulties they are tried with.'' 



THE DUKE OP WELLINGTON. 

^^ Is not gaining a great victory the most glorious 
thing in the world ? " asked a lady, of the Duke of Wel- 
lington, at the time of the occupation of Paris by the 
allies. The Duke replied, ''It is the greatest of all 
calamities except a defeat." 



ANECDOTE OF A BISHOP OF LONDON. 

It is related of a Bishop of London, that being in 
want of some article connected with house furniture, he 
sent to the house of a member of the Society of Friends, 
in the city, for patterns of the article he wanted. When 
the Bishop's message reached the shop, the proprietor 
was absent, but a young and consistent Friend in his 
employ, went to the palace with the desired patterns, 
and after having shown them to the Bishop, was desired 



WILLIAM BLAKEY. 47 

to leave them until next morning, when, after the ap- 
proval of a pattern, a message should be forwarded to 
the house for a party to return and take the order. 

When the young man reached the warehouse, he found 
his employer there, who queried of him where he had 
been, and on being informed, remarked very sharply that 
he supposed he should lose the order, from the young 
man's stiffness, and requested to be informed when the 
Bishop's messenger should arrive. 

The following morning the Bishop sent down according 
to promise, and the Friend hastened to attend to the 
business. He was introduced to the Bishop, to whom 
he made a profound bow, and then accosted him in a 
manner quite inconsistent with his profession. 

The Bishop, perceiving this, asked if he w^as the per- 
son who called upon him yesterday? To which the 
Friend replied, 'No ; he had left the young man at home, 
as he preferred calling personally. The Bishop told 
him that he should prefer seeing the person who had 
previously called upon him, and added to the following 
effect : '' Let me give you a few words of advice : never 
be ashamed of consistently carrying out your profession, 
for however much others may differ from you in religious 
opinion J they always admire the conduct of those who 
consistently carry out the views which they profess to 
hold." 



WILLIAM B L A K E Y. 

William Blakey, a minister of the Gospel in the So- 
ciety of Friends, resided at Middletown, Bucks County, 
Pennsylvania. During the war of the American Ilevo- 
lution, he, with many of his fellow-professors, suffered 



48 GLEANl^*GS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

from the foraging parties of the American arm}'. At 
one time a party, headed by an officer , came to William's 
farm, and appeared disposed to strip him of all his sub- 
stance which they could possibly take off. The officer 
ordered his men to seize upon the horses and wagons, 
and to load up the grain and other produce. Whilst the 
men were doing his bidding, he himself was abusing 
William, calling him a rebel, and threatening to take his 
life. His aim seemed to be to irritate William, so that 
he should do or say something which might furnish a 
pretext for personal violence towards him. 

But William remained silent, and was perfectly calm 
and collected ; his thoughts were turned inward towards 
his Divine Master, for strength and support, and he dis- 
played no hard feelings towards those who were thus 
robbing him of his substance. The officer soon became 
silent : he was evidently agitated and distressed. The 
quiet humility of his victim was a more powerful appeal 
to him than the most eloquent intercession would have 
proved. 

After a time he turned to William, and with a faltering 
voice, asked him if he ever prayed. William replied, he 
hoped he had at times been favored to have access to the 
Throne of Grace, and that at this time of trial he had 
been endeavoring to feel after the spirit of supplication. 
The officer then asked if he ever prayed for any one but 
himself, and on William answering in the affirmative, 
added, ** I wish then you would pray for me. for I would 
not endure the wretchedness I now feel for all you are 
worth. '■ The soldiers had by this time secured the grain 
and loaded it into the wagons ; but the officer was so 
completely overcome by the meek, Christian spirit of 
him they had been spoiling of his goods, that he ordered 
all to be restored. 



MEMOIRS 01^ WILLIAM BRAMWELL. 49 



A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 

Words used by Friends in the marriage ceremony, 
(and also in the certificates) varied much previous to the 
establishment of a form by Discipline (probably in It 21). 
A certificate recorded in Yorkshire, is as follows : 

"• George Musgrave loved Ann Brock, and she became 
his wife, publicly in the congregation, upon the twentieth 
day of the Tenth month, in the year 1663." 

[Signed by seventeen witnesses.] 



EXTRACT FROM MEMOIRS OF WILLIAM 
BRAMWELL. 

(Taken from the "Imperial Magazine " for Twelfth month, 1819.) 

The substance of a remarkable dream, related by the 
late R. Bawpers, of Danvers, who committed it to writing 
from the lips of the person who had the dream, on the 
evening of Fifth month 30th, 1813. 

'^A gospel minister of Evangelical principles, whose 
name, from the circumstances that occurred, it will be 
necessary to conceal, being much fatigued at the conclu- 
sion of the afternoon service, retired to his apartment, 
in order to take a little rest. He had not long reclined 
upon his couch, before he fell asleep, and began to 
dream. 

" He dreamed, that on walking into his garden he 
entered a bower that had been erected in it, where he 
sat down to read and meditate. While thus employed, 
he thought he heard some person enter the garden, and 
leaving his labors, he immediately hastened towards the 
spot whence the sound seemed to come, in order to 



50 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

discover who it was that had entered. He had not 
proceeded far before he discovered a particular friend 
of his, a gospel minister of considerable talents, who 
had rendered himself very popular by his zealous and 
unwearied exertions in the cause of Christ. On approach- 
ing his friend he was surprised to find that his counte- 
nance was covered with gloom, which it had not been 
accustomed to wear, and that it strongly indicated a 
violent agitation of mind, apparently arising from con- 
scious remorse. After the usual salutation had passed, 
his friend asked the relator the time of day, to which he 
replied, 'Twenty-five minutes after four o'clock.' On 
hearing this, his friend said, ' It is only one hour since 
I died, and now I am damned I' ' Damned ! for what ?' 
inquired the dreaming minister. 'It is not,' said he, 
'because I have not preached the gospel, neither is it 
because I have not been rendered useful, for I have now 
many seals to my ministry, who can bear testimony to 
the truth as it is in Jesus, which they have received from 
my lips ; but it is because I have been accumulating to 
myself the applause of men, more than the honor which 
cometh from above ; and wisely I have my reward.' 
Having uttered these expressions, he hastily disappeared, 
and was seen no more. 

" The minister awakened shortly afterwards, with this 
dream deeply impressed upon his mind, and proceeded, 
overwhelmed with serious reflection, toward his chapel, 
in order to conduct the evening service. On his way 
thither, he was asked if he had heard of the great loss 
the Church had sustained by the death of that able 
minister. He replied ' No,' but being much afi*ected with 
this singular intelligence, he inquired on what day his 
death took place. To this his friend replied, ' This after- 
noon, at twenty-five minutes after three o'clock.' "... 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS SCATTERGOOD. 51 



EXTRACT FROM ** MEMOIRS OF THOMAS 
SCATTERGOOD." 

At our last Quarterly Meeting, our beloved friend 
Thomas Scattergood, in the course of his public testi- 
mony, in moving language, warned the youth present to 
beware of wanton behavior, dancing, frolicking, &c., 
stating that he had known several instances of divine 
displeasure being manifested to individuals, who had 
attended such meetings as these, and directly afterwards 
had gone to horse-races, or other sinful pastime. One 
instance he mentioned, of a young man who, on his way 
home from a favored meeting, falling in company with 
persons who were collected for a horse-race, they urged 
him to ride one of the horses ; he at first refused, but 
being pressed by some of them, at length yielded ; and 
in the race was thrown from the horse, which occasioned 
his death. He said it appeared to be his business to 
warn the youth present to beware of such conduct, lest 
some of them might be made like examples. '' I do not 
say,'' said he, it will be the case, but I find it my place 
to proclaim a solemn warning." On third-day our 
meeting ended. 

Twenty-seven persons, chiefly 3^oung people, embarked 
on board a boat, bound for Sandy Hook ; but before 
they set off, it was observed that several of them were 
discouraged, and ready to give it up ; and on their way 
it was remarked, how dreadful it would be, if any unfavor- 
able accident should happen after having been at meeting, 
and hearing the advice then given. On fourth-day they 
went to view a monument erected over a person of dis- 
tinction, who, with twelve others, perished there not long 
before. On fifth-day they walked to the light-house, and 



52 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

on their return, went on a narrow reef of sand, which is 
bare at low water, as also the way to it ; on this they 
spent some time in walking, &c. At length, observing 
the tide to run fast, they were alarmed, and concluded 
to return. But, alas ! the sea had hidden their path, and 
covered all their way marks ! However, they made the 
attempt, and as they were pressing on, eleven of them 
suddenly stepped into the deep, were overwhelmed, as 
in a moment, and seven of them perished. The others, 
with the assistance of some of the company who could 
swim, got to the shore, though almost spent. Four of 
the bodies were found, and brought up here (Rahway) 
on sixth-day. 

The next day was appointed for their interment, and 
notice being given, a large concourse of people attended, 
after which a meeting was held, wherein our beloved 
friend Thomas Scattergood was enabled to preach the 
gospel ; pertinently to exhort all present to profit by the 
present calamity, and feelingly to impart a portion of 
consolation to those who drank largely of sorrow's 
streams. 

He had not felt eas}^ to return home after our Quarterly 
Meeting ended ; but waiting in great exercise of mind, 
was not able to discover the cause of his being thus 
detained. On sixth-day morning, he retired into a 
private room, and sitting awhile under the like pressure 
of exercise, a messenger stepped in with the foregoing 
sorrowful tidings. Then he could account for the trying 
dispensation he had passed through, which he related 
in his discourse to the crowded audience, obsening that 
it might be said of him, as of Nehemiah, '^ Why art 
thou sad, seeing thou art not sick?" '' I was not sick/' 
said he, ''but felt such oppression of exercise, that I 
thought of taking my bed.'' 



TOTAL ABSTINENCE. 53 

[The ^'four bodies" mentioned above, were those of 
young women. Thomas Scattergood says, '' We walked 
down to the landing, and there saw them lying on straw, 
on the deck, side by side, and a very serious sight it 
was. 

"" 22d. Went to the burial, which was a solemn scene ; 
such a grave I never saw before — wide enough to lay the 
bodies of these poor young women side by side, who, but 
a few days before, were mostly in full health and strength 
and most or all of them at meeting. Solemn it was to 
see the coffins, one by one, brought into the graveyard.'^] 
This was in the Eighth month, 11 Sd. 



"TOTAL ABSTINENCE." 

A mother, on the green hills of Vermont, stood at her 
garden gate, holding by her right hand a son of sixteen 
years, mad with love of the sea. '^ Edward," said she, 
" they tell me that the great temptation of the seaman's 
life is drink ; promise me, before you quit your mother's 
hand; that yon never will drink." Said he — for he told 
me the story — ^^ I gave her the promise ; I went the broad 
globe over — Calcutta, the Mediterranean, San Francisco, 
the Cape of Good Hope, and for forty years, whenever I 
saw a glass filled with sparkling liquor, my mother's form 
by the garden gate on the hillside of Vermont, rose up 
before me, and to-day, at sixty, my lips are innocent of 
the taste of liquor." Was not that sweet evidence of the 
power of a single word ? And yet it was but half; for, 
said he, " Yesterday there came into my counting-room a 
young man of fort}^, and asked me, ' Do you know me?' 
* No,- said I. ^ I was brought once,' said he, ' drunk into 
your presence on shipboard ; you were a passenger ; the 



54 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

captain kicked me aside ; 3^011 took me into 3^our berth, 
kept me there till I had slept off the intoxication, and 
then 3'ou asked me if I had a mother; I said, never that 
I knew of; I never had heard a mother's voice. You told 
me of 3^ours at the garden gate, and to-da3% twenty years 
later, I am master of one of the finest packets in New 
York, and I came to ask you to come and see me.' " 

SAMUEL FOTHERGILL, 

At a Quarterly Meeting in the North of England, re- 
lated the following : 

He had called to visit an Elder ^of the Society, on his 
death-bed, and found him in great agonj^ and anguish of 
spirit. He was a man who bore a good character among 
men, and in the days of his j^outh had been zealous in the 
discharge of the duties devolving on those who are 
rightly called to the station he held in the church. As 
he grew older the ardor of his devotedness declined, 
3'et as he retained the form of Godliness, his estimation, 
in the judgment of his fellow-creatures, was not materi- 
ally diminished. But now, on his death-bed, the good 
opinion of others could not satisfy his soul. He told 
Samuel, that in the days of his j^outh, he had a vision, 
in which was represented a well-inclosed field of green 
pasture, well watered, and abounding in flocks of sheep. 
They were in an excellent condition, and remarkable for 
the whiteness of their fleecy coA^erings. This fold he 
was to watch over, he was to care for the flock, see after 
the hedge, and keep the fountain-head of the water clean. 
And now, in his old age, he had the vision renewed. He 
again beheld the fold committed to his care; but oh! 
the awful change ! The hedge was broken down, the 
pasture was burnt up, the sheep and lambs which re- 



SAMUEL FOTHERGHLL. 55 

mained in the inclosure, were poor, weak, and sickly, 
and a venomous serpent lay in the fountain-head, and 
poisoned the whole waters. While he considered the 
change^ he heard a voice saying, ''All this will I require 
at thy hands." After narrating this, he told Samuel, 
that in looking to the future, he could see nothing but 
gloom and darkness. 

The following circumstance was related by Samuel 
Fothergill, on his return to England, after his visit to 
America : 

A Friend, at whose house he lodged when passing 
through the wilderness, was a widow, and lived with her 
son, who cultivated a small piece of land, which fur- 
nished them a frugal subsistence. Their nearest neighbor, 
who lived a few miles distant through the forest, came 
early one afternoon to request she would visit his wife, 
who was taken very ill ; and stay with her while he went 
for medical advice. With this she complied, and put- 
ting up in a basket a few needful things for the sick 
woman, she told her son she did not expect to return 
before the next morning, and set out and reached the 
place in safety. With suitable remedies, the invalid 
soon recovered, and her husband returning, the widow 
concluded to go home that evening, hoping, as it was a 
fine moonlight night, that she might pass the forest with- 
out danger. But on crossing an open glade, she saw a 
flock of wolves drinking at a pool of water at some dis- 
tance, which made her sensible of her great rashness, 
thinking that unless she could pass unobserved, her 
destruction was inevitable, as no human help was at 
hand, for though her home was in sight, she belicA'cd 
her son was in bed, and the cottage fiist. In this strait, 
she lifted up her heart to God in earnest prayer, that He 
who had often strengthened and consoled her in many 



66 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

troubles, would now be pleased to interpose for her help, 
and not permit her to be devoured by these savage crea- 
tures. Her mind became composed, and she ran quickly 
forward; on crossing a fence, she looked back and per- 
ceived that one of the wolves had discovered her ; he 
uttered a shrill cry, and immediately the whole pack 
was in pursuit. 

Meanwhile, her son had retired to rest, but could not 
sleep ; a strange and unusual anxiety came over his mind, 
which continually increased ; he arose and made a large 
fire of wood, which blazed brightly, and he sat down by 
it. In a short time he thought he heard his mother's 
voice calling to him, and opening the door, he perceived 
her, followed by several wolves; one was so near as 
almost to touch her shoulder with his paw. The sudden 
light dazzled and checked them, and for a moment they 
fell back, which gave her time to rush into the house 
and close the door, when she, with her son, both greatly 
affected by this deliverance, united in returning thanks 
for the merciful interposition which had so remarkably 
preserved her life. 



DROVTSINESS. 

(Extracted from the "Liife of Thomas Story.") 

The week-day Meeting at Pains wick, being on the 
18th, I went thither. It was small and heavy in the be- 
ginning, but ended fresh and lively. The hindrance was 
drowsiness, a great evil, hindering the living worship 
of the living God, and in which hidden temptation, 
Satan has greatly prevailed in some places, to the dis- 
honor of God and hurt of many souls. For if Satan can 
transform himself into an angel of light, and in that 



JOHN BUNYAN. 57 

way deceive the simple, and such as know not the true 
light, how much more may he transform himself into the 
image of death and darkness, in a dead and drowsy soul; 
through which as a veil he puts on in a meeting, he also 
loads and grieves the upright and living ; and where 
this prevails there can be no worship of God, but rather 
a yielding and bowing to the enemy, whereby all wor- 
ship of God is much more effectually suppressed, than 
by all the powers of the earth in times of their open 
opposition and persecution. 

JOHN BUNYAN. 

It being well known to some of his persecutors in 
London, that Bunyan was often out of prison, they sent 
an officer to talk with the jailer on the subject, and in 
order to find him out, he was to get there in the middle 
of the night. Bunyan was at home with his family, but 
so restless he could not sleep ; he acquainted his wife, 
that though the jailer had given him liberty to stay till 
the morning, he felt so uneasy, he must immediatel}^ 
return. He did so, and the jailer blamed him for coming 
in at so unseasonable an hour. Early in the morning 
the messenger came, and interrogating the jailer, said, 
"Are all the prisoners safe?" " Yes." ^' Is John Bunyan 
safe?" "Yes." "Let me see him." He was called, 
appeared, and all was well. After the messenger was 
gone, the jailer, addressing Bunyan, said, " Well you 
may go out again just when j^ou think proper, for 3^ou 
know when to return better than I can tell you." 



58 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



MATTHEW WARREN. 

Matthew Warren, a pious man, was, during the reign 
of Charles II and James II, an object of great hatred 
to the ruling powers, because of his religious principles. 
His person was often sought for by wicked men, with 
the intent, if possible, to bring him to an ignominious 
death. At one time he was very remarkably and provi- 
dentially preserved. His wife had a strong impression 
on her mind, that unless he left the house in which he 
at that time found shelter, before a particular hour, he 
would be taken prisoner. Under this impression, she 
sent a messenger to him with a letter, stating her desire 
that he would be at his own house at the hour specified, 
or else he might never see her more. Supposing her 
ill, he immediately took leave of his friend, and set out 
homewards. From the summit of the first ascent, he 
looked back towards the house he had left, and found it 
surrounded by the persons who were seeking his life. 



A DREAM. 

(From the Journal of Thomas Chalkley.) 

After visiting Friends in America, " in the love of the 
gospel," Thomas Chalkley sailed, in the winter of 1698-9, 
on his return to England. Elizabeth Webb and Eliza- 
beth Lloyd went in the same vessel. After they had 
been several, weeks at sea, Thomas Chalkley wrote in 
his journal, as follows, viz. : 

We had several good meetings, wherein we gave 
glory to God, our Saviour ; and forever let it ascend to 
Him over all, saith my soul ! Contrary winds are com- 



A DREAM. 59 

monly tedious at sea, but especially to those that know 
not where to stay their minds ; but there being several 
Friends of us on board, we had oftentimes good meetings; 
and if any of our ship's company came to meeting, they 
always wei^e sober, and sometimes tender ; and truly 
God's love was extended towards them. When it was 
not our meeting days, we spent not our time idly, but 
for the most part in reading the Holy Scriptures, writing, 
&c., in which we were at seasons greatly refreshed, 
strengthened, and comforted. Oh! my soul! glorify 
God thy Maker, and Christ thy Saviour forever, in the 
sense of his goodness and mercy, both by sea and land, 
by night and by day ! After we had been almost seven 
weeks at sea, we thought that we were near the land ; but 
we sounded several days, and found no bottom, although 
we let out abundance of line, I think above three hundred 
yards. 

About this time our doctor dreamed a dream, which 
he related to me to this effect. He said, '' he dreamed 
that he went on shore at a great and spacious town, the 
buildings whereof were high and the streets broad ; and 
as he went up the street he saw a large sign, on which 
was written in great golden letters, shame. At the door 
of the house to which the sign belonged, stood a woman 
with a can in her hand, who said to him, * Doctor, will 
you drink ?' He replied, ' With all my heart, for I have 
not drank anything but water a great while ' (our wine 
and cider being all spent, having had a long passage), 
and he drank a hearty draught, which he said made him 
merry. He went up the street, reeling to and fro, when 
a grim fellow, coming behind him, clapped liim on tlie 
shoulder, and told him that he arrested him in the name 
of the governor of the place. He asked him for what; 
and said, 'What have I done?' He answered, Tor 



60 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

stealing the woman's can.' The can he had indeed, and 
so he was had before the governor, which was a mighty 
black dog, the biggest and grimmest that ever he saw 
in his life ; and witness was brought in against him by 
an old companion of his, and he was found guilty, and 
his sentence was to go to prison, and there lie forever." 
He told me this dream so punctually, and with such an 
emphasis, that it affected me with serious sadness, and 
caused my heart to move within me ; for to me the dream 
seemed true, and the interpretation sure. I then told 
him he was an ingenious man, and might clearly see the 
interpretation of that dream, which exactly answered to 
his state and condition ; which I thus interpreted to him : 
*^ This great and spacious place, where the buildings were 
high, and the streets broad, is thy great and high pro- 
fession. The sign, on which was written shame ^ which 
thou sawest, and the woman at the door, with the can in 
her hand, truly represent that great, crying, and shameful 
sin of drunkenness, which thou knowest to be thy great 
weakness, which the woman with the can did trvily repre- 
sent to thee. The grim fellow who arrested thee in the 
devil's territories, is death, who will assuredly arrest all 
mortals ; the governor whom thou sawest, representing 
a great black dog, is certainly the devil, who, after his 
servants have served him to the full, will torment them 
eternally in hell." So he got up, as it were in haste, and 
said, '' God forbid ! it is nothing but a dream." But I 
told him it was a very significant one, and a warning to 
him from the Almighty, who sometimes speaks to men 
by dreams. 

In seven weeks after we left sight of the land of 
America, we saw the Scilly Islands, and next day the 
land of England, which was a comfortable sight to us ; 
in that God Almighty had preserved us hitherto, and 



A BREAM. 61 

thai we were so far on our way. We drove about the 
Channel's mouth for several days for want of wind; after 
which the wind came up, and we got as far up the 
Channel as Lime Bay, and then an easterly wind blew 
fresh for several days, and we turned to windward, but 
rather lost than got on our way, which was tiresome 
and tedious to us. 

About this time, being some days after the Doctor's 
dream, a grievous accident happened to us. Meeting 
with a Dutch vessel in Lime Bay, a little above the 
Start, we hailed her and she us. They said they came 
from Lisbon and were bound for Holland. She was 
loaded with wine, brandy, fruit, and such like commod- 
ities, and we having but little water to drink, b}^ reason 
our passage was longer than we expected, we sent our 
boat on board, in order to buy a little wine to drink with 
our water. Our Doctor, and a merchant wlio was a 
passenger, and one sailor, went on board, where they 
staid until some of them were overcome with wine, 
although they were desired to beware thereof. When 
they came back, a rope was handed to them, but they 
being filled with wine to excess, were not capable of 
using it dexterously, insomuch that they overset the 
boat, and she turned bottom upwards, having the Doctor 
under her. The merchant caught hold of a rope called 
the main sheet, whereby his life was saved. The sailor 
not getting so much drink as the other two, got nimbly 
on the bottom of the boat, and floated on the water till 
our other boat was hoisted out, which was done with 
great speed, and we took him in; but the Doctor Avas 
drowned before the boat came. The seaman who sat on 
the boat saw him sink but could not help him. This 
was the greatest exercise that we met with in all our 
voyage, and the more so, because the Doctor was of an 



62 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

evil life and conversation, much given to excess in 
drinking. When he got on board the aforesaid ship, the 
master sent for a can of wine, and said, ''Doctor, will 
3'ou drink ? '' He replied, " Yes, with all my heart, for 
I have drank no wine for a great while;" upon which 
he drank a hearty draught, that made him merry, as he 
said in his dream ; and notwithstanding the admonition 
which was so clearl}^ manifested to him but three days 
before, and the many promises he had made to Almighty 
God, some of which I was a witness of when strong con- 
victions were upon him, yet now he was unhappily over- 
come, and in drink when he was drowned. This is, I 
think, a lively representation of the tender mercy and 
just judgment of the Almighty to poor mortals, and I 
thought it worthy to be recorded for posterity, as a 
warning to all great lovers of wine and strong liquors. 
This exercise was so great to me that I could not for 
several days get over it, and one day while I was mu- 
sing in my mind on these things relating to the Doctor, 
it was opened to me that God and his servants were 
clear, and his blood was on his own head, for he had 
been faithfully warned of his evil ways. 

We were obliged by contrary winds to put into Ply- 
mouth Harbor, and from Plymouth I went by coach to 
London, where I was gladly received by my relations 
and friends. I got to the Yearlj' Meeting of Friends in 
London, in the year 1699, which was large, and was at 
divers public meetings for the worship of Almighty God. 
I may truly say the Holy Ghost was amongst us, blessed 
be God, our Saviour, for evermore. 

Xote. — Thomas Chalkley was at this time in the 24th year 
of his age. 



SILENT REBUKE. 63 



SILENT REBUKE. 



About the year 1Y81, when Friends in Yirginia were 
endeavoring to withdraw their members from the practice 
of holding slaves, C. Moreman was living not far from 
Cedar Greek. He owned a farm and held a number of 
slaves. It appears he was circumstanced as were many 
other slaveholders, just able to live, without increasing 
his estate. The Yearly Meeting of Yirginia at that 
time appointed a committee to visit all the members 
within the limits of that meeting who were in the posses- 
sion of slaves. C. Moreman was very indignant at what 
he considered an impertinent interference with private 
property, and as he could only make a living with his 
slaves to assist him, it seemed probable he could not 
support himself vjithout them. During five or six weeks 
which elapsed after the appointment, his mind was agi- 
tated by a host of angry passions. Sometimes he thought, 
if Friends should come to his house, he would turn them 
out of doors, or if they came when he was out, he would 
stay out, and not afford them an opportunity of speak- 
ing, with him. 

At length he was informed the committee w^ere at his 
house, and notwithstanding his previous resolutions, he 
did not feel quite stubborn enough to carry them out. 
On meeting the Friends, they accosted him in a very 
friendly manner, and informed him that as they were 
visiting their friends, they had taken the liberty of call- 
ing upon him, and if he would be so kind as to give 
them and their horses something to eat, it would be 
gratefully accepted. This amicable commencement of 
an unwelcome visit had considerable ellect towards 
softening C. Moreman 's feelings, and his Yirginia hospi- 



64 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

tality could not refuse their request. Therefore the 
horses were fed, and a dinner prepared for themselves. 
After the repast was over, the committee and their 
irritable host sat down together in silence, the latter 
being ready to fire the moment the battle should begin. 

After silence had continued for a time, one of the com- 
mittee whispered to another, till the whisper had gone 
round, when one of them observed that they had been 
kindly entertained, and if they had their horses they 
would ride. Their horses being brought, the Friends 
took an affectionate leave of their host, and, without 
saying a word about his slaves, left him to his own re- 
flections. This mode of treating the case was probably 
a more severe rebuke than could have been administered 
by words. C. Moreman began to reflect upon the vile- 
ness of his own mind, which had been for several weeks 
working like a troubled sea, and throwing up mire and 
dirt to cast upon a number of inoflensive Friends, who 
evidently had nothing in their hearts but love towards 
him, and who had said nothing to disturb the possession 
of his slaves. 

These reflections were well calculated to suggest the 
suspicion, that slaveholding was not quite so just a 
practice as he had imagined, and that very possibly those 
who were striving, in the spirit of love, to withdraw 
their friends from it, might be much nearer the Kingdom 
than those who were inclined to enlist their vilest pas- 
sions in its defence. While his mind was under the 
uneasy feelings which these circumstances excited, he 
dreamed one night that he was on the side of a dreadful 
precipice, and laboring to attain the summit, but when 
he reached the top, he found a little black bo}^, one of 
his slaves, was there and pushed him down again. He 
then scrambled along to another point of the summit, 



CLARKE STEVENS. 65 

but still the little slave, running along tlie ridge, was 
there before him and pushed him back. When he awoke 
he found himself wet with sweat, as if he had been at 
work in a harvest field. This dream, in conjunction with 
his previous reflections, so wrought upon him, that he 
concluded to emancipate all the slaves he had, and car- 
ried this conclusion into effect. 

Being a man of considerable mechanical ingenuity, he 
made a kind of tub mill, for which the situation of the 
country created a demand, perhaps to grind Indian corn 
into hominy. As land was cheap and mechanical skill 
dear, he soon saved money enough to purchase another 
farm ; and when the country was sufficiently furnished 
with tub mills, he took up another mechanical employ- 
ment, and was soon able to purchase a third farm. He 
then felt himself an independent man, having three farms 
and but two children , and gave it as his opinion that if 
he had retained his slaves, he would never have possessed 
more than one farm. 

He had also the consolation of believing he was no 
longer in danger of being tumbled down the precipice, 
and having his neck broken, by the hands of a. little 
slave. 

CLARKE STEVENS. 

Clarke Stevens was an approved minister in the So- 
ciet}^ of Friends, residing at Montpelier, within the 
limits of Ferrisburg Quarterly Meeting, Vermont. Once, 
when from home in Truth's service, he felt a concern to 
appoint a meeting at a place where the inhabitants were 
very rough and uncivil. The Friends with whom he con- 
ferred on the subject hesitated, it appearing so unlikely 
that truth would find a place with such ii }>eoplo. and 



66 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

having fears as to the result of appointing a meeting. 
Not meeting with encouragement, lie retired for the night, 
but next morning told his friends he felt best to relate 
to them a little incident which occurred in Xew England, 
in an earl}' ^^J^ when slaves were held there. 

The son of a slaveholder had been educated for a 
preacher, and when his literary qualifications were com- 
pleted, received invitations from two congregations to 
settle with them. One was wealthy and could offer large 
inducements of a pecuniar}^ nature ; the other, being poor, 
could not make such flattering propositions. 

The young man was somewhat perplexed, and applied 
to his father for advice. After some consultation he 
turned to an old slave who sat in a corner, and said, 
'' Well, Cuffee, what do 3'ou think about it ?" " Oh, mas- 
ter," said the slave, '^ never mind so much about the 
money, go where there is most devil." 

The Friends saw the point, felt the rebuke, and were 
willing he should pursue his prospect ; which he did to 
satisfaction, having a favored meeting. 



DEBORAH MORRIS'S WILL. 

Deborah Morris, a Friend, who died about the year 
1800, preserved a family' anecdote, by reciting it in her 
will, viz. : 

'-^Item, — I give to my nephew, Thomas Morris, the large 
old-fashioned silver salver, which belonged to m}" dear 
aunt, Elizabeth Hard, who with her husband came over 
(to Pennsylvania) with William Penn and other Friends. 
All that arrived in those early days wanted lodgings in 
the then wilderness, and hastened to provide themselves 
with temporary accommodations. Few of the first settlers 



I 



DEBORAH morris's WILL. 67 

were of the laboring class, and help of that sort was 
scarcely to be had at any price, so that many of the 
women set to work they had never known before. 

" My good great-annt (Hard) was accnstomed to help 
her husband at building, and took one end of the crosscut 
saw with him ; she also fetched water for the mortar, 
wherewith to build the chimney for their cave. At one 
time her husband, perceiving her to be overwearied, said 
to her, ' My dear, thou hadst better give over and see 
about dinner.' On which, poor woman, she walked 
away, weeping as she went, for she knew their provisions 
were all spent, of wdiich she had not told her husband, 
except a small quantity of biscuit and a little cheese ; 
but she thought she would try if any of her neighbors 
had anything to spare. 

'' While reflecting on herself as she went along, for 
coming to America, to be exposed to such hardships, 
she felt reproved in her mind for distrusting a kind 
Providence who had hitherto provided for them. In 
this humble state she reached her cave, and on her 
knees begged forgiveness for having murmured against 
the will of her Heavenly Father. 

^' When she arose to go and call on her friends to ask 
their charity, the cat came home from a foraging expe- 
dition, bringing a fine rabbit in its mouth, wiiich she 
thankfully took, and proceeded to dress it as an English 
hare. When her husband was informed of the fiict, they 
both wept with reverential jo}^, and thankfully partook 
of the food so seasonably provided for them.'' 

Deborah Morris also bequeathed to her uncle, John 
Morris, another family relic — a silver tureen, upon 
which was engraved the device of the cat bringing 
home a rabbit in its moutli. 



68 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



ANTHONY B E N E Z E T . 

Aiitiiony Benezet died Fifth month 3d, 1784, aged tl 
3^ears. His funeral was attended by persons of all classes 
and sects. Among them were hundreds of blacks, who 
truly mourned the loss of their beloved benefactor and 
friend. An officer in the American army, who followed 
the body to its final resting-place, remarked to a friend, 
'' I would rather be Anthony Benezet in that coffin, than 
General Washinsfton with all his fame.*' 



HU:^IE, THE INFIDEL. 

Hume, the celebrated infidel philosopher, and author 
of a History of England, was dining at the house of an 
intimate friend. After dinner the ladies withdrew, and, 
in the course of conversation, Hume made some asser- 
tions which caused a gentleman present to observe to 
him, '' If you can advance snch sentiments as those, j^ou 
certainly are what the world gives you credit for being, 
an infidel.*' A little girl whom the philosopher had often 
noticed, and with whom he had become a favorite, by 
bringing her little presents of toys and sweetmeats, 
happened to be playing about the room unnoticed ; she, 
however, listened to the conversation, and on hearing 
the above expression, left the room, went to her mother, 
and asked her, '' Mamma, what is an infidel ?'' ^'An 
infidel! my dear,*' replied her mother; ''why should you 
ask such a question? An infidel is so awful a character 
that I scarcely know how to answer you." '' Oh, do tell 
me, mamma,'* returned the child, *' I must know what an 
infidel is.*' Struck with her earnestness, her mother 
replied, "An infidel is one who believes there is no God. 



HUME, THE INFIDEL. 69 

no heaven, no hell, no hereafter." Some da^s afterwards, 
Hume again visited the house of his friend ; on entering 
the parlor he found no one there but his favorite little 
girl ; he went to her, and attempted to take her up in 
his arms to kiss her, as he had been used to do, but the 
child shrunk with horror from his touch. '' My dear,'' 
said he, '' wiiat is the matter? do I hurt 3^ou?" " Xo," 
she replied, *'you do not hurt me, but I cannot kiss 
jou, I cannot play with j^ou.'' ''Why not, my dear?" 
'^ Because you are an infidel." *'An infidel ! what is that?" 
'' One who believes there is no God, no heaven, no hell, 
no hereafter." ''And are you not sorry for me, my 
dear?" asked the astonished philosopher. '' Yes, indeed, 
lam sorr}'," returned the child, with solemnity, '^ and 
I pray to God for you." ''Do you, indeed? and what 
do you say?" " I say, God, teach this man that Thou 
art!" 

What a striking illustration of the words of sacred 
writ, " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast 
thou ordained strength, because of thine enemies, that 
thou mightest still the enemy and avenger." (Vs. 8: 2.) 

The infidel confessed himself so much struck with the 
seriousness and simplicity of the child, that it caused 
him some sleepless nights and days of sharp mental 
conflict. However, it is to be lamented that he stifled 
his conviction, and went on to the very borders of 
eternity, vainly flattering himself that he should prove 
" like the beasts that perish." 

" From the statements of Adam Smith, it would appear 
as though David Hume had approached the confines of 
life with the same thouglitless levity, resi>ectiug his 
eternal interests, as he had manifested through liis life. 
Silliman, however, upon visiting tiie neigliborhood in 
which his last days were spent, a few years afti'rwards, 



70 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

received a statement, derived from his nurse, which 
shows that the philosophy as well as the levity of Hume 
deserted him when the final moment came ; and that, 
however lightly he seemed to look upon death when it 
was at a little distance, he died at last in horror." 

THOMAS WARIKG. 

Thomas Waring, of West Nottingham, Maryland, was 
the son of Joseph and Mary Waring, of the county of 
Wexford, Ireland. He removed to this country with 
his parents and family in the year 17*75, being then in 
the 21st 3^ear of his age. 

He spent seven winters with his parents at East Not- 
tingham, in the line of his trade, which was that of a 
dish turner ; and the summers were passed in farming 
on shares for Joseph Chambers, on White Clay Creek, 
within the limits of a meeting then held at Stanton, a 
component part of Wilmington Monthly Meeting. In 
these seven years he had fourteen certificates of removal ; 
on changing his residence spring and fall, if he did not 
request for himself. Friends would send one after him. 
Such was their care in those days. During the time he 
farmed for Joseph Chambers, it is said they disagreed 
but once, and that was in dividing the last crop, when 
each thought the other did not take enough. 

He subsequently settled in West Nottingham, where 
he passed the remainder of his life ; he and his unmar- 
ried sisters, Hannah and Mary, were severally taken 
from mutability in the 88th ^^ear of their age. An elder 
sister, Elizabeth Martin, and his wife Hebekah, daughter 
of Stephen and Martha Wilson, of Bucks County, Pa., 
were taken in their 91st year. The latter survived him 
nearly twelve years. 



THOMAS AVARTNG. 71 

When a 3^oung man, he had occasion to attend court 
at Elkton,and not being easy to comply with the custom 
of taking off the hat in honor to man, he several times 
had his taken off in court. One day, as he was standing 
in diffidence by the door, in the court-room, the crier 
came to him, and placing his hand on his shoulder, 
queried, ''Are you a real Quaker ?" T. W. — " I profess 
to be one." Crier. — "If you are a real Quaker 3^ou may 
keep your hat on." T. W. — " By what authority dost 
thou give me that information?" Crier. — " The court 
has taken it into consideration, and concluded that real 
Quakers may keep their hats on." Then turning to a 
member standing by, who did not always keep to the 
plain language, he added, '' But you shall take your hat 

off:' 

Among the occurrences in his early life are the fol- 
lowing : He was once at work with a man he had hired, 
who gave him abusive language. He desired him to 
desist, but the abuse continuing, he presently found 
himself with the man prostrate on his back, and he on 
him, holding him down. He afterwards remarked that 
he was much alarmed by finding himself in that position, 
and thought the man was as much so. It was a lesson 
of warning and instruction to him, showing the import- 
ance of being at all times guarded and on the watch ; 
and by attention thereto, with best help afforded, he was 
enabled to overcome his naturally strong and irritabU^ 
disposition, so that in more advanced life, an acquaint- 
ance remarked, he thought " Thomas hadn't quite temper 
enough." 

At one time, a woman Friend in the station of Elder, 
(a member of the same Monthl}^ Meeting as liimseir), 
was given to drowsiness in meetings. He wns led to 
believe it required of him to speak to her on the subject, 



1-2 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY FIVE. 

but made many excuses; still, being unable to feel clear 
of the concern, he one da}- concluded, as he rode to 
meeting on horseback, if it was a right concern he would 
meet with her by the way. As he passed into the road 
near her residence, she came out on horseback, and they 
rode some distance together, but still failing to comply 
with the impression of duty, he was for some time after- 
wards visited with the same weakness, and looked upon 
it as a judgment for his disobedience. 

When Thomas "Waring came to this country in ltT5, 
grass and grain were cut with scythes and sickles, 
requiring many hands to perform the labor, and it was 
generally thought that rum was indispensable, to enable 
the laborers to perform the work. A stranger in the 
countr}^, he fell in with the custom for a year or two, but 
finding the effect not good, the third year he entirely 
declined it, which in harvest often exposed him to the 
ridicule of those he was working with ; and because he 
would not drink, they frequently used extra efforts to 
make him give out, but never succeeded in a single 
instance ; while some of those who took rum almost 
invariably gave out in making such efforts ; a circum- 
stance he referred to in after-life, as an argument against 
the use of strong drink, saying he felt better when he 
arose in the morning, and through the day, and his 
thirst was less than when he had participated in its use. 
From that time forward he was not in the habit of using 
it himself, except as medicine, or of allowing any in his 
employ to use it. 

A Friend by the name of W purchased a farm in 

the neighborhood, and Thomas going his security for 
the purchase-money, had it to pay ; afterwards, by mutual 

agreement, he took the farm to save himself. W 

then moved to Ohio, and died there^ leaving a widoT^^ 



THOMAS WARING* 73 

with a large family of children. M. T., a member of 
another religious j)ersuasion, having sold a farm and 
received $500 of the purchase-money, came to Thomas 
and bought this farm of him, paying him $50 in hand, 
with stipulations for the balance. Some da3's after this, 
M. T, came to throw up his purchase, saying he could 
not compl}^, as his farm was thrown up ; but one thing 
was certain, he would keep the $500 he had received on 
it, yet he wanted Thomas to pay him back the $50. He 
did so with interest. Afterwards selling the farm for 
more than it cost him, he sent part of the money to the 
widow of W — — , and had the satisfaction of hearing she 
had it at interest in a way to be relieving in the support 
of her numerous famil3^ 

From "Ths Friend." 

'' Departed this life (First month 26th, 1842) Thomas 
Waring, an esteemed elder and member of Nottingham 
and Little Britain Monthly Meeting, in the 88th year of 
his age. It is with no ordinary feelings we thus announce 
to his distant friends and acquaintances, a termination 
of the labors and usefulness of this, our beloved Friend, 
whose dedication and devotedness through a long life, 
have set forth so striking and encouraging an example to 
his survivors, speaking to them in the expressive language 
of conduct, ' Follow me, as I have endeavored to follow 
Christ.' Throughout a painful and lingering disease, of 
a cancerous affection, his patience and resignation bore 
a striking exemplification of the Christian character. 
The morning before his departure, though apparently 
not so near his end, he told his family he believed he 
should not live to see another da}, lie appeared desirous 
of having them collected around him, as if to witness 
the closing scene. He was perfectly calm and composed. 



74 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

His last moments of consciousness were dedicated in 
supplication for himself, and for tliose he left behind. 
Thus has he been gathered, we humbly believe, as a 
^ shock of corn fully ripe,' into the garner of eternal 
rest, there to enjoy in endless fruition the reward laid up 
for the righteous. His genuine piety, and unobtrusive 
life and conversation , had endeared him to his neighbors, 
and all who knew him. His memor}^ is sweetly embalmed 
in their affections, as was abundantly evinced in the 
spontaneous effusion of feeling, by a very large concourse, 
assembled to pay the last solemn tribute to his memory. 
^Mark the perfect man and behold the upright, for the 
end of that man is peace.' " 



GEOEGE WHITEFIELD, ETC. 

Some of the early Methodists were much persecuted 
for their faithfulness in apprehended duty. At Not- 
tingham, England, George Whitefield's meetings were 
attended by '' great multitudes," who thronged every 
avenue to the place. In some places, he said, '' Satan 
rallied, giving notice of me by calling the people to a 
bear baiting ; a drum is beat, and men are called to the 
market-place ; but the arrows of the Lord can disperse 
them." 

At Rotherham several young men met at a tavern, 
and undertook, on a wager, to see who could best mimic 
him ; each in turn mounted the table, and opening a Bible, 
entertained his companions at the expense of everything 
sacred. A youth by the name of Thorpe was to close 
the scene ; and he exclaimed, on taking his stand, '' I 
shall beat you all." Opening the Bible, his eye fell on 
the solemn sentence, " Except ye repent, ye shall all like- 
wise perish," It pierced the young man's soul. The 



AN infidel's death-bed. 75 

Truth mastered him. He spoke, but it was like a dying 
man to dying men. A profound seriousness spread over 
the company, and those who came to scoffs went away 
to weep. He afterwards became a preacher, as did also 
his son, "William Thorpe. (About 1750.) 

It was probably at an earlier period, that one of the 
most violent opposers of Grimshaw and Ingham, was the 
vicar of Colne, a town on the borders of Yorkshire. On 
hearing of the arrival of any such preachers in his neigh- 
borhood, he used to call the people together b}^ the beat- 
ing of a drum in the market-place, and enlisting a mob 
for the defence of the church. One of his proclamations 
to this end is curious, viz. : 

^' Notice is hereby given, that if any man be mindful 
to enlist in his Majesty's ser\dce under the command of 
Rev. George White, commander-in-chief, and John 
Banister, lieutenant-general of his Majesty's forces for 
the defence of the Church of England, and the support 
of the manufactory in and about Colne, both of which 
are now in danger, let him repair to the drumhead at the 
cross, where each man shall receive a pint of ale in ad- 
vance, and all other proper encouragement." 

The reckless fury of a force thus enlisted may be im- 
agined. The preachers and hearers were often pelted 
with stones and dirt, trampled into the mud, and beaten 
without mercy ; the constables rivalling the vicar in his 
violence and hatred against them. 



AN INFIDEL'S DEATH-BED. 

Some years ago, an individual well known and higlily 
respected in the religious world, narrated in my hearing 
the following incident : " In early life, while, with a col- 



76 . GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

lege companion, he was making a tour on the Continent, 
at Paris his friend was seized with an alarming illness. 
A physician of great celebrity was speedily summoned, 
who stated that the case was a critical one, and that 
much would depend upon a minute attention to his di- 
rections. As there was no one at hand upon whom they 
could place much reliance, he was requested to recom- 
mend some confidential and experienced nurse. He 
mentioned one, but added, ' You may think yourselves 
happy indeed should you be able to secure her services ; 
but she is so much in request among the higher circles 
here, that there is little chance of finding her disen- 
gaged.' The narrator at once ordered his carriage, 
went to her residence, and much to his satisfaction found 
her at home. He briefly stated his errand, and requested 
her immediate attendance. ^ But before I consent to 
accompany you, permit me, sir,' said she, 'to ask you a 
single question: is your friend a Christian?' 'Yes,' 
he replied, 'indeed he is a Christian in the best and 
highest sense of the term, a man who lives in the fear 
of God. But I should like to know 3 our reason for such 
an inquiry.' ' Sir,' she answered, ' I was the nurse that 
attended Yoltaire in his last illness, and for all the 
wealth of Europe I would never see another infidel 
die.'" — Ford^s Damascus, 



A MURDER PREVENTED. 

A respectable tradesman, named Rich, in the North 
of England, had in his employ three young men, Mat- 
thew, James, and Samuel. Matthew w^as a pious man, 
and in all respects a good servant. But James and 
Samuel were artful and wicked men, who ate at the table 
and lived in the house of the man they meant to injure. 



A MURDER PREVENTED. 77 

At length James and Samuel entered into business on 
tlieir own account, in a neighboring town ; but still 
dealt with the wholesale house of their former employer. 
Matthew continued in his situation for years, and when 
the duties of traveller were to be performed, they fell 
upon him. Time passed on, James and Samuel w^ere 
settled, and in relation to their former employer ap- 
peared most amicable, when a remarkable incident 
occurred. 

'''' It was midwinter ; the day had been wet and the 
night was dreary, when Matthew, after a long ride on 
horseback, was returning home, having collected a con- 
siderable sum of money ; and taking the shortest road, 
he had to ford a small brook. But when he reached the 
midst of the stream, his horse suddenly stopped, and 
restively refused to proceed, nor could he b}" any means 
induce him to go forward. Nothing remained but to 
take another road, which delayed and somewhat anno3'ed 
him, but be arrived safely at home. The next da}^ was 
the first of the week, and Matthew generally attended 
public worship thrice on that da}^, but he was so much 
fatigued, he proposed staying at home in the afternoon, 
while the family went out. His proposal was accepted, 
and he was left alone in the house, but instead of taking 
repose, as he at first inclined to, he resolved to spend 
a little time in private devotion. He therefore read his 
Bible, and knelt in prayer and found it good for him to 
draw nigh unto God. It was a favored season, but liow 
long he continued in prayer he knew not. Rising from 
his knees, he said, 'This is none other than the House 
of God, and this is the Gate of Heaven.' 

''As soon as Rich came in, he perceived that some one 
had been to the bureau in which the money had been 
deposited, and on examining found the entire sum had 



78 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

disappeared. Matthew asserted he had not taken it, 
nor was he suspected, but the money was gone, and some 
one must haAX taken it. While conversing on the sub- 
ject, a noise was heard, and hastening to discover the 
cause, they saw a man escaping from the neighboring 
premises, and had no doubt that he was the thief, but 
he eluded their pursuit. The money was in local bank 
notes, the numbers known, and jDayment was stopped at 
the bank. Months passed away, when Pvich received a 
message from the bank, requesting his presence imme- 
diately. He went, and learned that James and Samuel, 
having presented the missing notes, were detained. He 
required them to state how they came possessed of the 
money — to clear themselves of suspicion, or confess 
their guilt — assuring them that in the latter case, there 
would be no prosecution. Their deposition was as 
follows : 

" ' On the da}^ preceding the robbery, when Matthew 
called on them, they thought he had a large sum of 
money with him, and resolved to waylay and rob him. 
They therefore provided arms, and were awaiting him 
when the horse refused to ford the brook ; but when 
thus far defeated, they managed to get that night into 
the house, where they remained in concealment until 
the afternoon, when they supposed all the famil}^ had left 
the house. They then entered the room in which they 
knew the money was usually kept, but it was not, as 
they had hoped, unoccupied. 

" ' Matthew was there, and on his knees. What was 
to be done. No time must be lost. The money they 
were determined to have ; so one placed himself, pistol 
in hand, by the man at prayer, while the other jDroceeded 
to rifle the bureau. That was a critical moment, for had 
Matthew in any way indicated that he was aware of their 



MARTHA ROUTH. 79 

presence, or attempted to rise from his knees, he would 
have been shot. But he perceived them not, so they 
escaped with the booty, and his life was saved/" 

It was impossible to listen to their recital without a 
shudder, and while their former employer felt deeply such 
a marked interposition of Providence, he looked on those 
who had been guilty of such an enormity with mingled 
horror and pity. He remembered it is written, " Ven- 
geance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord," and was 
content to leave them to Him. But though capable of 
such wickedness in secret, they would not attempt to 
live where their guilt was known. A little time sufficed 
to settle their affairs, and then they left the country 
never to return. 

t 
MARTHA ROUTH. 

(Extracted from her Journal.) 

IT 95. llth of Fourth month. First day, we were at 
Cool Spring ; on second day, at Three Runs ; third, at 
Motherkiln ; in all which exercising labor was assigned ; 
the latter in particular was a very large, mixed gathering, 
in which were many black people. Strength was given 
to divide the word to the different states ; and I humbly 
trust it was a time thankfully to be remembered. The 
praise thereof was given to the Holy Head of the church, 
to whom alone it belonged. We went to Warner MifMin's 
to dine, with several other friends, and feeling an exer- 
cise that drew to silence, I found it right to give way to 
it, and it became general with those present, among whom 
were several young people ; but very unexpected indeed 
were the remarks I had to make of the state of some we 
read of, who had made a covenant with death, and were at 
an agreement with hell. The secret contiiet of my mind 
was great, in having such a passage to mention in a small 



80 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

company, among whom appeared little A'isible sign of 
deviation. I was informed some weeks after, that a 
young woman then present, the only child of a valiiable 
minister, married, the same week, a man of deistical 
principles, and ordinary character. 

ROWLAND HILL. 

Kowland Hill was the sixth son of Sir Rowland Hill, 
Baronet, of Hawkstone, Shropshire. He received '' Dea- 
con's orders, "in IttS. His successor at ''Surrey Chapel," 
Sherman, wrote concerning him : '' Yearning over the 
spiritual miseries of men, he could not confine himself 
to the more regular and established mode of preaching 
im a church, but gladly engaged in that work wherever he 
could gather a congregation, whether in the market-place 
or in the cathedral, beneath the shade of a tree, or in the 
dissenting meeting-house ; his object being to win souls 
to Christ, and ally them to His spiritual church, found in 
ever}^ visible congregation of His worshippers. After 
having for some years preached in most of the counties 
of England, in many of the churches, chapels, and streets 
of the metropolis, and in the fields and commons of its 
vicinity, to large and deepl}^ impressed audiences, he 
determined to erect a chapel in the southern part of 
London. A liberal subscription was commenced, to 
which he was the chief contributor." In 1T83 " Surrey 
Chapel " was opened for Divine worship, and Rowland 
Hill continued the pastor nearly fifty years— until his 
death, which occurred in 1833. 

The energy of manner of Rowland Hill, and the power 
of his voice, are said to have been at times overwhelming. 
Once, while preaching at Wotton-under-Edge, his country 
residence, he was carried awa}" by the impetuous rush of 
his feelings, and raising himself to his full height, ex- 



ROWLAND HILL. 81 

claimed, "Beware, I am in earnest; men call me an 
enthusiast, but I am not ; mine are words of truth and 
soberness. When I first came into this part of the 
country, I was walking on yonder hill ; I saw a gravel- 
pit fall in and bury three human beings alive. I lifted 
up my voice so loud, that I was heard to the town below, 
a distance of a mile. Help came and rescued two of the 
poor sufferers. No one called me an enthusiast then, 
and when I see eternal destruction ready to fall upon 
poor sinners, and about to entomb them irrevocably in 
an eternal mass of woe, and call on them to escape, by 
repenting and fleeing to Christ, shall I be called an 
enthusiast ? No, sinner, I am not an enthusiast in so 
doing." 

To a friend Rowland Hill wrote : " Fine affected 
flourishes and unmeaning rant are poor substitutes for 
plain, simple, unaffected gospel truths ; yet such sort of 
preaching will have its admirers ; and it is surprising 
what strange stuff, of different sorts, will make up a pop- 
ular preacher ; insomuch that being registered in that 
number, should rather fill us with shame than with 
pride." 

When asked his opinion of the excitement produced 
by a certain preacher, he said, " This cannot last ; he is 
like a skyrocket that goes off blazing into the air, but 
the dry stick soon falls to the ground and is forgotten." 

" How different," said he, " the poor tools of ministers 
of our manufacturing, when compared with the burning 
and shining lights the Lord can send forth." 

On a tour in Yorkshire, Rowland Hill paid a visit to 
an old friend of his, who said to him : " It is just sixt}^ 
five years since I first heard you preach, and I remember 
your text, and part of your sermon." " Tis more than 
I do," was the reply. " You told us," his friend pro- 



82 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

ceeded, " that some, people were very squeamish about 
the delivery of different ministers, who preached the 
same gospel. You said, ' Suppose you were attending to 
hear a will read, where you expected a legacy to be left 
you, would you employ the time when it was reading in 
criticising the manner in which the lawyer read it ? No, 
you would not, you would be giving all ear to hear if anj^- 
thing was left to you^ and how much it was. That is the 
way I would advise you to hear the gospel.' " 

In his 8 2d year, he remarked, " The older I grow, the 
more I feel my need of the Saviour, and the only evi- 
dence I have of my interest in Him, is the life-giving in- 
fluence of a living Kedeemer on my heart — w^e know that 
we are His, by the spirit which He hath given us. fine 
expression — because I live^ ye shall live also. If Jesus 
lives in our hearts by faith, then, and then only, can you 
say, / know that my Redeemer livetJu This language 
belongs only to those who are dead indeed unto sin^ but 
alive unto God, through Jesus Christ, their living and 
life-giving Lord." 

Extract of a Letter from John Ber ridge to Rowland Hill, 

" Luther used to say, ' when the Lord had fresh work 
for him, a strong trial was sent beforehand, to prepare 
him for it b}^ humiliation.' Study not to be a fine 
preacher; Jerichos are blown down with rams' horns. 
Look simply unto Jesus for preaching food, and what is 
wanted will be given, and what is given will be blessed, 
whether it be a barley or a wheaten loaf, a crust or a 
crumb." (Probably in 1773.) 

During the political riots which broke out in England 
in 1Y80, threatening the peace of the realm, Rowland 
Hill often went to St. George's Fields, in the southern 



INDIAN DISCOURSE. 83 

suburbs of London, a place of disorderly assemblages 
and seditious vigils, and addressed vast concourses of 
discontented and starving workmen, upon the verities of 
the world to come. His intrepid addresses were charged 
with hidden power ; they pierced the consciences of men 
hungry for bread and heated with political excitement ; 
the grievances of the present life, great as they seemed 
to be, and great as they really were, sank into compara- 
tive insignificance before the momentous interests of the 
life to come. Stout hearts gave way ; a cry went up for 
the bread of life, and they who had nothing to expect 
from earthly sovereigns, gained access to the Throne of 
Crrace. Nor is it surprising that hatred and spite aimed 
their shafts at the bold , yet true , reformer. Often he was 
pelted with stones, lampooned, or burnt in ef^gjj which, 
with the displeasure of his parents, and the undisguised 
uneasiness felt by many of his true yet timid friends, 
might have damped a heart less resolutely devoted to 
his Master's cause. 



INDIAN DISCOUKSE 

AT A FUNERAL ON THE ALLEGHANY RESERVATION. N. Y. 

On the 19th of Third month, 1851, we attended the 
funeral of Julia Ray's child, aged five months, taking 
with us Sall}^ Shongo, an Indian girl, about twelve yenrs 
of age, who had lived with us nearl}^ a year. I desired 
her to pay particular attention to what might be said, 
and repeat it to me. 

Two daj^s passed before I had an opportunity to speak 
to her respecting it; she then said she could not tell nie. 
I observed that I had desired her to remember ; she 



84 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

answered she did not forget what Jacob Blacksnake said, 
but could not tell me. "Why?'' ^' I cannot talk English." 
I assured her I could understand her, and though often 
interrupted she gave me (with much apparent serious- 
ness) the following account : 

Jacob Blacksnake said, " That boy never said au}^ bad 
words, he could not talk, he was too little, he never 
thought an}" bad thoughts. He had gone away up above, 
where the Good Man lives ; Julia must not be sorry too 
much; if she would try to be good, she would see her 
boy again. 

" There are two roads through this world, one straight, 
the other crooked " (designating the first by tracing a 
straight line along his left hand, with the fore-finger of 
his right, the other by making a zig-zag course) ; '' people 
that go in the straight road, go where the Good Man 
lives ; and they that go in the crooked one, where the bad 
man lives ; in an iron house, red-hot." He said, '^ This 
fire " (pointing to a large one on the hearth behind him) 
^' is not hot ; but there it is hot, oh very, very hot. 

'' Where the Good Man lives is a very pleasant place ; 
strawberries and blackberries are there, and birds sing 
very good ; wind that blows there smells very good ; great 
many flowers all around where God sits, and He looks 
what people are doing. He writes it down when people 
do good, and when they do bad. 

" Smells very sweet where God sits. God very sorry 
when people drink whisky ; when somebody dies, the 
Good Man comes down and gives something good to eat 
to good folks ; and when bad folks die, bad man gives 
them bad things to eat. 

" Good Man very happy when a great many good 
people there ; bad man would be very sorry if no bad 
folks where he lives. 



INDIAN DISCOURSE. 85 

^' Children must try to be good ; they will be sorry 
when they die if they are bad, for they will go to the 
bad place ; if children tell stories, when they are dead 
God asks them, how many stories did you tell ? God 
knows how many ; He knows everything we ss.y. It is 
very bad to fight ; when two boys fight, God puts His 
head between them, and when they strike, they hurt God. 

'' The sun is getting old now, and this world will soon 
be burnt up if people are so bad, drink whisky, and tell 
stories, and steal ; and people that drink whisky, and tell 
stories, and steal, will go to the bad place ; they should 
stop, and try to get ready to go where the Good Man 
lives. If people will be good, the world will stay longer ; 
it cannot stay longer, if people are so bad. 

" You are happy when you go drink whisky, but when 
you die you won't be happy, for Good Man sa^^s, 3'ou 
liked whisky, you shall go drink more whisky. The bad 
man has something he calls whisky ; it is like what people 
make balls of to put in their guns to shoot, and it is 
boiling in a big boiler ; he takes some out in a spoon, and 
pours it into their mouths ; it goes whis-s-s, and runs all 
the way down them like fire. 

^^ Men, women, and children, remember what I say; 
you must think all the time of what I say ; when I die, 
and you die, you will be sorry if you don't mind what I 
say. Children will say, ' My grandfather, Jacob Bhick- 
snake told me, but I did not mind,' and they will be very 
sorry when they are dead." (He said more,not distincth' 
remembered.) 

This was shown to an educated Indian, Avho said he 
did not doubt the translation being in substance correct. 

Those Indians do not have regular preachers at their 
funerals, but sometimes one, sometimes anoth(M-, or two 
or three speak, Jacob Blacksnake called himsc^lf the 



86 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

children's ^' grandfather." The Senecas are divided into 
what may be called ^' clans," and those belonging to one 
clan speak of each other as relatives, father, mother, 
sister, &c. Jacob was a chief, a very intelligent and 
respectable man, son of '' Governor Blacksnake," who 
was the oldest and most influential chief on the reser- 
vation. 

IXDIAN WITNESS. 

A Seneca Indian was summoned as a witness, before 
a magistrate in Cattaraugus County, New York. The 
"Esquire," thinking the Indian appeared stupid, and that 
probably he did not understand the nature of an oath, 
queried with him what would be consequence of his 
giving false testimony. The Indian answered, " May be 
I be found out, put in jail, and stay there long time; 
then when I die I catch it againy 

His testimony was received. 



MEHETABEL JENKINS. 

Whilst Mehetabel Jenkins was in England on a relig- 
ious visit (perhaps in the 3'ear It 81), she attended the 
circular meeting held at Exeter. Catharine Phillips was 
also at the meeting, and in the exercise of her beautiful 
and acceptable gift, spoke largely to those assembled. 
After Catharine had ceased, Mehetabel, who was an 
illiterate woman, and not extensive as a minister, stood 
up and delivered a brief testimony. Some one complained 
to Timothy Bevington, that such a friend as Mehetabel 
should speak in such a large meeting. The complainant 
thought good order required that an opportunity should 
be taken with Mehetabel, to prevent the possibility of 
her disturbing large gatherings, and said, the Friend's 



CALEB PENNOCK. 87 

gift appeared better adapted to small meetings of our 
own Society. Timothy Bevington, from whom the anec- 
dote is derived, replied, he believed no harm had been 
done. It so happened that he had invited a man of some 
standing in Exeter to attend this circular meeting, who 
accepted the invitation. Soon after he met Timoth}^, 
and expressed his warm thanks for the treat he had 
received. Timothy said he was pleased to find him so 
well satisfied, adding, ^' My friend Catharine Phillips is 
considered a great minister.'' ^' Yes," replied his friend, 
'" we know Mrs. Phillips is a very sensible woman ; we 
therefore are not surprised to hear her preach a good 
sermon ; but the few words the elderly lady from America 
said, were to me far more weighty, and suited to the 
situation of my mind, than an34hing Mrs. Phillips had 
to say. I hope to be thankful as long as I live, for the 
great instruction and sensible feeling of divine goodness 
I experienced from the sweet, short sermon of your 
American Friend." 



CALEB PENNOCK. 

Caleb Pennock was born in East Marlborough, Chester 
County, Pennsylvania, Ninth month 24th, 1752. During 
his apprenticeship he met with many temptations, and 
some unusual trials, in passing through which he was 
remarkably favored. 

After his marriage, being actively engaged in provid- 
ing for the wants of his family, he did not tVol bound 
to attend week-day meetings; but became convinced ol' 
his error, in an opportunity wliicli William eTnckson (in 
the course of a religious visit to the members of theii* 
Monthly Meeting) liad in his family. Alluding to tlu' 
change in his'feelings, lie remarked, " I had now another 



88 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

Master, and had to attend both First and week-day 
meetings." Some time after this he removed with a 
certificate to Kennet Monthly Meeting, held alternately 
at Kennet and Centre. The latter place was eight miles 
from his residence, and thither he frequently walked, 
entering no house by the way ; and often on these occa-' 
sions lending his horses to others. He was cautious 
not to grasp after the things of this world, lest he 
should lose a better inheritance. 

When he became convinced it was the Divine Will he 
should call others to repentance, he long evaded the 
requisition, adopting the language of Moses, ^^ Kill me, 
I pray thee, if thou dealest thus with me ;" but at length 
gave up his own will, and became a faithful and humble 
minister of the Gospel. He looked upon his services, 
both in public and private, with great humility, sa3dng, 
" We are but as a speck on the earth, in the view of our 
Almighty Creator, whom we ought ever to obey." He 
w^as much grieved by the departure from primitive plain- 
ness and ancient simplicity in dress and furniture, 
among the members of our Religious Society, which, 
beginning in cities, spread abroad into the country. He 
said he felt so discouraged at times, with seeing innova- 
tions among Friends, that he was ready to wish with 
the prophet for a hiding-place, beholding with sorrow a 
backsliding into many things that our predecessors had 
to renounce through great sufferings, and whose blood 
may be required at our hands, if we let their testimonies 
fall. The erroneous use of the plural language to a single 
person, he thought a mark of great declension ; and was 
deeply grieved with the practice of some nominal pro- 
fessors, who taught their children to say the Lord's 
prayer formally, at going to bed, or other stated periods, 
kneeling down, &c. In the last Yearly Meeting he at- 



I 



CALEB PENNOCK. 89 

tended (1840), alluding to the alteration in the query on 
love and unity, he regretted the omission of the words, 
^^as becomes the followers of Christ," because in this 
fellowship w^as the only true unity. 

On the 3d of First month, 1843, a young female min- 
ister (Edith Jeffries) attended Kennet Monthly Meet- 
ing, and the next day wrote as follows, viz. : "After I 
did the little that was given me, Caleb (Pennock) arose 
and took up the same subject, and opened it in another 
light. He compared our Society to a building that had 
been torn to pieces; yet he said all was not to be lost, 
for there were many pieces of plank that were worth 
saving. These would be taken care of, and would go 
tow^ards erecting the fabric again, when they had been 
hewn and squared ; for the building w^as to stand. He 
alluded to the separation that was past, and said this 
was not sufficient to humble us ; and now the enemy 
was permitted to tempt us yet again ; but his power 
was limited, and we were not about coming to an end; 
for the testimonies professed by Friends were in ac- 
cordance with the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and must 
prevail over all others. 

"He was still more striking in the second meeting. The 
partitions not closing tightly , we could hear very plainly. 
He was addressing the yoimg men, and, amongst other 
things, said, the enemy, in order to have successful 
instruments in his own hand, had tempted many filling 
high stations among us, and had led them off; so that it 
might be said, ' The leaders of my people have caused 
them to err ;' and these were leading away others. The 
enemy had got up a counterfeit; and not only got it up, 
but also got it to pass ; and if we expect a counterfeit 
to pass, it must very nearly resemble tlie thing itself, or 
it would not do ; but after all it would not bear inspection, 



90 



GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY FIVE. 



however near the resemblance might be ; but, Friends, the 
true thing will! How original, how true! These are 
nearl}^ the words^ but the feeling which accompanied 
them cannot be conve^^ed. We dined together at J. 
B.'s; and while I sat feasting on his redeemed-looking 
countenance, he turned to me, and said, ^I have lately 
been made to believe that the enemy was permitted to 
follow us to the very gate ; and that we shall not be 
safe until we get inside of it. And sometimes he tempts 
me to doubt whether I shall ever get inside, by bringing 
all the sins of my ^^outh before me, and making me fear 
that I have never fully repented of them. Ah ! what a 
sorrowful thing it will be, if, after all my struggling, I 
should be cut off at last ! But I am sometimes given to 
feel that it is the work of the enemy, and sometimes I 
am afraid it is not ; and this brings me very low.' Oh 
what a lesson was this to me, coming from one that is 
now in his ninety-first 3^ear, and who, we believe, with- 
out a doubt, will in a few more days be gathered home 
unto his fathers in peace. How ought it to teach us 
that the humble follower is never safe, only so long as 
he is made to feel the necessity of obeying the command, 
* Watch and pray,' and that even unto the end. Ma}^ I 
remember this ! " 

On. the day of Western Quarterh^ Meeting in the 
Eighth month, a number of Friends called to see Caleb 
Pennock. He appeared pleased that they had thus re- 
membered him, and stammered falteringiy, " I feel more 
than I can manifest," &c. He was disabled by a para- 
lytic stroke a few months previous to his decease, but 
his faculties appeared to be clear, and he was preserved 
in much sweetness to the last. 

He quietly departed, on the 25th of the Eleventh 
month, 1843, in the 92d year of his age; and was buried 



JACOB LINDLEY. 91 

on the 2Tth, at Parkerville, after which a large and 
memorable meeting was held. 



EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL OF JACOB LINDLEY. 

In the year 1193, Jacob Lindley, a minister in the 
Society of Friends, residing in New Garden, Chester 
County, was appointed, with others, to attend an Indian 
treaty proposed to be held at a place, then a wilderness, 
and only to be approached by long and sometimes dan- 
gerous travelling. They were '' absent on this toilsome, 
exercising journey about four months and a half." 
Jacob Lindley left an interesting account of the journey, 
from which the following anecdotes are extracted. 

" 12th of Sixth month. — Had a solid conference with 
David Kennedy, a half Indian, a man of learning and a 
man of influence. Having been educated in Scotland, he 
visited London, Jamaica, &c. He lives with the Indians 
and professes Christianit}^ ; is well versed in the Scrip- 
tures, and says he has initiated divers into the Christian 
faith, by a medium widely contrasted with our mode. 
He told us some Indians used to mock and ridicule his 
going to church, but at a certain time he undertook to 
drub them severely, and ordered them and their families 
to attend church in future, or he would be under the ne- 
cessity of dealing more sharply with them. On which 
they appeared the next day of public worship, and had 
continued steady ever since ; he supposed it the most 
substantial method of making converts, as also of ending 
quarrels or disputes. To all which I opposed several 
texts out of the New Testament ; to tlie validity of which 
he assented, and strongly avowed his friendship for us, 
and promised to us(^ his influence, in order to oi^n our 



92 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY- FIVE. 

way amongst the other nations of his acquaintance, which 
is extensive. 

"19th of Seventh month. — Staid mostly at our lodgings, 
writing and conversing with some intelligent travellers. 
One of them related a conversation between one Fro- 
bisher, a merchant in the northwest trade, when at the 
Grand Portage, west end of Lake Superior, and an old 
Indian from the northwest, which so much coincided 
with my own sentiments, that I note it. Frobisher was 
inquiring after the curiosities of the northern clime, 
which the Indian related as far as he had travelled ; but 
added, that younger Indians, who had travelled further 
northwest, had seen some things still more wonderful. 
Frobisher asked him if he did not think some parts of 
their relation untrue ? The old Indian replied : 'No ; it 
is not possible it can be lies, for they have never seen a 
white man in their lives.' •' 

A severe reflection on Christians, so called. 



A RAY EX IX IT 66. 

In the year It 66, the especial interposition of Divine 
Providence was manifested in a most extraordinary man- 
ner, to a poor laborer, at Sunderland. This man, being 
employed in hedging near an old stone quarry, went to 
eat his dinner, in a deep excavation, in order to be shel- 
tered from the weather, which was stormy ; and as he 
went along, pulled off his hedging gloves, and threw them 
down at some distance from each other. While at his 
repast, he observed a raven pick up one of them, with 
which he flew away, and ver}" soon afterwards returned 
and carried off the other. The man being greatly sur- 
prised, rose to see if he could trace where the bird had 



I 



WILLIAM KIKK AND WIFE. 93 

gone with his gloves. He scarcely had cleared the 
quarry, before he saw large fragments of rock, &c., fall 
down into the very place where he had been seated, and 
where, if he had continued a minute longer, he must in- 
evitabl3^ have been crushed to pieces. 



A STUDENT AND DUKE. 

Doctor J. Fothergill, after having been some time in 
medical attendance on a titled personage (it is believed 
a Duke), sent one of his students to visit him. The 
young man, anxious to find favor in the eyes of the titled 
patient, assumed a manner and address different from 
those in which he had been educated. The Duke, in sur- 
prise, queried if he were not of the same profession with 
Dr. Fothergill ? and receiving an affirmative answer, de- 
sired he would leave him, and inform the Doctor he was 
not disposed to trust his life in the hands of a man who 
was false to his religious profession. 



WILLIAM KIRK AND WIFE. 

Early in the last century, William Kirk and his wife 
removed from the neighborhood of Wilmington (Dela- 
ware), and took up a tract of land on the northern side 
of Chester County, now East Nantmeal Township. It 
was almost entirely a wilderness, and when they took 
possession of the cabin he had put up for them in the 
woods, they were much secluded from intercourse with 
others. 

His means were limited, but he was energetic and in- 
dustrious, and his wife, who was a valuable helpmate, 
united her endeavors to his in procuring a subsistence 



94 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

for their increasing family. Many difficulties beset them 
but they were generally enabled to overcome them more 
easily than they had expected. Of one period of priva- 
tion and threatened famine, which occurred when but a 
small portion of their land had been brought under cul- 
tivation, he sometimes told in after-life with tears. It 
was the closest trial of their faifh. 

At that time he had no one to assist him but his wife's 
brother, a lad of ten or twelve years of age. The crop 
of grain they had raised w^as light, and after sowing for 
the next harvest, the quantity left was far from sufficient 
for the family through the approaching winter. Then 
William became disabled by rheumatism, the sustenance 
for the family was exhausted, the ground so covered 
with snow as to be almost impassable, and he was unable 
to seek abroad for means of avoiding the suffering which 
threatened them. 

In this time of extreme peril his wife mounted a horse, 
and taking with her a web of homespun linen, set out for 
a distant mill. She left their cabin early in the morning, 
having snow from three to four feet deep to pass through, 
and many drifts much deeper. 

The journey was very difficult, and when she reached 
Ashbridge's mill, near where Westtown school now 
stands, the day was far advanced. She told the miller 
the situation of the family; that they had no mone}^, 
but had a crop of grain in the ground, and offered her 
linen in pledge for flour, until they could redeem it after 
harvest. The miller's heart was touched ; he replied he 
wisked no security but her word, gave her as much as 
her hoxi^e could carry, and offered to supply all they 
should need until harvest. 

With a weary horse heavily laden, she travelled all 
night to reach her home, where her invalid husband and 



MARY KIDGWAY AND JANE WATSON. 95 

young brother were sitting up, anxiously awaiting her 
arrival. The children had cried for food, and their 
father scraped from the kneading-bowl something of 
which he made a kind of porridge, which, with some 
boiled dry beans, having in a measure allayed their hun- 
ger, they had forgotten their troubles in sleep. 

The mother reached the cabin in safety ; and when 
she entered it, the bearer of good news and life-sustaining 
food, both she and her husband were so overcome that 
the}^ fell into each other's arms and wept. 



ABEL THOMAS. 

The industrious do not always accumulate much of 
this world's riches. Sometimes their Heavenly Father 
sees the need of crosses, even in temporals, and admin- 
isters to them losses of various kinds ; but the Lord's 
dedicated children can often perceive His hand in these 
dispensations, and being content therewith, still find 
godliness great gain. Abel Thomas was active and pru- 
dent in his worldly business. A Friend who admired 
his industry and management said to him, ^' I suppose 
thou art growing rich, Abel!" ^' No," said the old 
Friend, seriously, "• I have been mercifully blessed with 
many losses." 



MARY RIDGWAY AND JANE WATSON. 

Mary llidgway and Jane Watson, two ministering 
Friends from Ireland, wlio visited this country about 
n90, v;ere much favored witli spiritual discernment and 
gospel authority in their labors. Mary llidgway, with 



96 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

clear judgment to condemn departure from the truth, was 
3'et a meek-spirited, mild-spoken advocate of the Gospel 
of Christ Jesus ; whilst Jane Watson was blunth^ honest, 
and spoke home truths in plain, straightforward, and 
sometimes sharp language. She was one to whom a 
description given by that late worthy minister, Ann 
Jones, of another Friend, would very properly apply: 
"He hewed to the mark, no matter what became of the 
chips.*' 

Mary and Jane, in the course of a visit to the meetings 
of Burlington Quarter, attended one, with the members 
of which, excepting one man elder, they were wholly 
unacquainted. Jane rose, and whilst her strong voice 
and Irish accent seemed to give emphasis to her words, 
took for her text, '' Love is strong as death ; jealousy is 
cruel as the grave ; the coals thereof are coals of fire, 
which hath a most vehement flame.'' In descanting on 
the nature of jealousy, she drew a vivid picture of a 
worthy female, who, not without cause, was suffering 
under its pangs. At this stage of her communication, 
she had some consolation to hand forth to the person. 
She then turned her discourse to the husband of the suf- 
ferer, the evil instrument of her sorrows, and proceeded 
as though reading over a narrative of bygone events, to 
proclaim his hypocrisy and shame. As she told of his 
lapses from honor and virtue, she exclaimed, *' What, 
Friends, if I could almost lay my hands upon him !" 

Jane TTatson then sat down, and soon after Mary 
Ridgway arose, and in her beautiful and impressive 
manner addressed the meeting on the difference between 
a real religion and that mere outward show, which to 
casual and superficial observers seemed as lovely as the 
real. She compared the appearance without the sub- 
stance to the pictures of the painter, and the statuarj^ of 



LETTER FROM PETER YARNALL. 97 

the sculptor, beautiful to look upon, and yet they were 
not the things they represented. 

When the meeting closed, the two Friends went home 
with their acquaintance, the elder. He spoke to Jane 
on the subject of her ministry, expressed his doubts as to 
there being any such person there, and said he thought 
there must be some mistake. '' No mistake at all !" said 
the straightforward Jane. " Who was that plain man 
that sat on the bench fronting me, who, when I began to 
speak, looked up so boldly in my face, but presently 
drooped his head, and did not raise it again during the 
meeting ? That is the man !" 

This person was at that time an overseer of the meeting, 
and for aught that his neighbors knew, was exemplary in 
his domestic relations, as he appeared to be in his out- 
ward walks amongst men. But in three weeks from the 
time of this meeting, a train of hidden depravity trans- 
pired, and the sufferings of his wife, which Jane had so 
graphically delineated, were found to have been a sad 
reality. 

It is said that Jane Watson once, commenting on the 
flimsy excuses of those in the parable, who, on being in- 
vited to the supper, declined, because of various trifling 
worldly engagements, when she came to trest on the 
answer, " I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot 
come," remarked, '' This was the greatest fool of all, for 
he should have gone, and taken his wife with him." 



LETTER FROM PETER YARNALL. 

In 1789, Peter Yarnall visited the settlement at Red- 
stone, and parts of Virginia. During his absence from 
home, he addressed a letter to James Bringhurst (dated 



98 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

First month 23d, It 90), from which the following is 
extracted : 

" How low is the state of our Society in many places, 
and even in jour great and opulent city, unto whom the 
Lord hath been gracious, blessing it with the dew of 
heaven, and the fatness of the earth ; and He is now call- 
ing to its inhabitants for fruits, answerable to the favors 
and mercies bestowed. 

"' Too many of those who have been invited by Him to 
the marriage supper, have been pleading excuses, the 
world and its votaries have obstructed their way, and 
many have been wounded and slain by its friendships, 
and its spirit, whom the Lord had designed for usefulness 
in His church. The pomp and glory of things transient 
and fading have dimmed their lights, and they are thus 
kept back from the enjoyment of the banquet of the 
King's Son, the possession of the pearl of great price! 
Yet they are still invited, and the call goes forth into 
the streets and lanes of the cit}^, and the highways and 
hedges ; for still there is room, and His table will be 
filled with guests. 

'^ The world, the flesh, and the devil, still endeavor to 
prevent us, who are called to the marriage supper of the 
Lamb, from accepting the invitation, and from taking 
our places in wedding garments, fitted and prepared by 
Him. The love of wealth and the results of it are, and 
have been, the main causes of the degeneracy visible in 
the families of many Friends in modern times. During 
the early da^^s of our Society, when the Friends were 
everywhere spoken against and persecuted, a dance or 
play of some kind was introduced and acted on the stage 
in the city of London, which, although almost blasphe- 
mous in its parts, was one in which a striking soul- 
important truth was set forth. A person was introducedj 



LETTER FROM PETER YARNALL. 99 

intended, with awful ])oldness, to represent tlie Almight}^ 
Creator of the world ; another was to personify tlie devil ; 
others were mortals seeking to obtain, by petitioning the 
Dispenser of all benefits, that which seemed most desir- 
able to them. Each one was allowed one request, and that 
one was always granted ; one wished riches, and obtained 
it ; another honor, another revenge on his enemies ; at 
last a poor persecuted Quaker was introduced, who asked 
for the ' kingdom of heaven.' When the others found 
he had obtained it, with one consent they cried out that 
they had forgotten the kingdom of heaven, and wanted 
that also. They were told it was too late ; their choice was 
made, and they must abide by it. At this part of the 
play, he who represented the devil, addressing the per- 
secutors of the Quakers, said to this effect : ' You are 
fools ! you persecute the Quakers and cast them into 
prison ; taking away their goods and living from them, 
so that the}^ have no certainty of either Iberty or estate ; 
and that tends to wean them from lower enjoyments, and 
to keep them low and humble, which puts them out of 
my reach. I will tell you what to do. Let them alone ; and 
as they are an honest industrious people, there will be a 
blessing on their labors, and they will grow rich and proud; 
build them fine houses, and get fine furniture, and tlie}^ 
will lose their humility, and become like other people, 
and then I shall have them.' 

" What an abundance of fine liouses, fine furniture, and 
fine pictures, are found amongst us in these degenerate 
days, which our worthy ancestors would not have been 
willing to have owned. It is but recently we observed a 
notice of a painting made for a member active in Society 
matters, the pay of which is in dollars, counted by thou- 
sandi>. Was there a momentary suspension of the cries 
of the poor and starving for bread, when the bargain for 

Lorc 



100 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-PIVE. 

wasting so large a portion of their rightful inheritance 
was made? Who, with a Christian heart, does not know 
that the superabundant resources of the rich is a fund, in 
the will and ordering of Divine Providence, on which the 
necessities of the poor have a right to draw. Thus, who- 
ever wastes them, is in fact spoiling the propert}" of 
others, taking the food from the mouth, the clothes from 
the back, the shelter from the head of the starving, the 
naked, the outcast. 

'' Our friend, Anthony Benezet, who felt himself re- 
strained from all needless expense, whether in adminis- 
tering to his own comfort, or to the gratification of what 
might be considered good taste, being in a store where 
many fine, costly goods were sold, exclaimed aloud, 
' What a number of beautiful things are here which I do 
not want.' Were he turned into the picture galleries 
of some bearing our name, to the parlors, ornamented 
with painting and gilding, to the chambers, to the libra- 
ries, to the wardrobes ; with both hands uplifted, we might 
hear him exclaim, with greater earnestness of spirit than 
he ever felt when he wrote the words, ' The sumptuous- 
ness of our dwellings, our equipage, our dress, furniture, 
and the luxmy of our tables, will become a snare to 
us, and a matter of reproach to the thinking part of 
mankind ! " 

'' The sorrowful effect of an attachment to the riches, 
the honor, the enjo^^ments, the comforts of this life, are 
strikingly set forth in a dream of Samuel FothergilPs. 
He says, ' One night after I had retired to rest, I was led 
to trace back the transactions of my life, from my cradle 
even to that very time. The remembrance filled my soul 
with humble thankfulness, and serenity of mind, in the 
blessed assurance of being eternally happ3% if I never 
opened my eyes more in this world. With these consid- 



NANTUCKET. 101 

erations and deep impressions of mind, I fell into a nat- 
ural sleep, and thought the dissolution of the world was 
come ; that I heard a trumpet, at which the earth and 
sea were to give up their dead. Afterwards they assem- 
bled in great numbers before the presence of the Most 
High, at the tribunal seat of justice ; many on the right 
hand in white, and multitudes on the left, whose clothing 
was dark and gloomy. I thought I accompanied those 
on the right ; and we were borne away as upon the wings 
of archangels to the celestial regions of eternal bliss. 
From thence I returned to view those miserable objects 
on the left, for whom all that was within me w^as con- 
cerned. I saw many that were clothed in white, yet at a 
distance, some of them individuals now in the body. I 
said. Lord what have these done that they are left be- 
hind ? Then instantly their white raiment fell off, and 1 
beheld them bound as with shackles of iron and fettered 
to the earth.' ", 

N ANTUCKET. 

The island of Nantucket was first discovered by Bjorne 
Herjulfson, a Norwegian navigator, in the year 985, 
while on a voyage from one of the Greenland colonies. 
The first Englishman who saw it was Bartholomew Gos- 
nald, in 1602. This island was included in the grant to 
the Plymouth Company, made by patent from the 
English Crown in 1620, and jurisdiction over it was 
claimed under that patent by Ferdinando Gorges and 
AVilliam, Earl of Sterling, by whom it was conveyed to 
Thomas Mayhew, about the year 1641. In 1 659 Mayhew 
conveyed to Tristram Coflin, Thomas Macy, Christopher 
llussey, Richard Swain, Thomas Bnrmird, Peter (\)lHn, 
Stephen Grecnleaf, John Swain, and William IMle, niue- 
tenths of the island (excepting that part cuHed Quaise), 



102 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

to hold in common with himself. Each of these ten was 
soon authorized to select an associate or partner, and 
thus the number of proprietors was increased to twenty. 
The consideration named in the deed was '• thirty pounds 
of current pay, and also two beaver hats, one for myself 
and one for my wife." 

These ten men felt, however, that although they now 
possessed all the title which the Crown could give, yet 
the Indians, the original occupants of the soil, were the 
true owners. The}^ immediately opened negotiations 
with the different sachems, and succeeded ere long in 
purchasing from them a greater part of the land. 

In the autumn of 1G59 Thomas Macy, one of the pur- 
chasers, residing in Salisbury, being persecuted on ac- 
count of having given shelter in his house to four 
Quakers for three-quarters of an hour in a rain-storm, 
left his home in an open boat, with his family and Ed- 
ward Starbuck, and in a short time landed upon the 
aorth side of the island, where they found about fifteen 
hundred Indians, by whom they were kindly treated. 
The island was covered with oak woods which abounded 
in game ; fish and birds were plenty. 

In the spring of 1660 Starbuck returned to Salisbury, 
and induced several proprietors with their families to 
accompany him to his new home. 



FROM THE JOURNAL OF JOHN FOTHERGILL. 

" On the 9th of Fourth month, 1T3T .the Yearly Meeting 
began at Portsmouth, Rhode Island, and a large, pre- 
cious meeting it was. I returned to Newport, where the 
Yearly Meeting continued and held four days, the assem- 
bly being large and peaceable, and at times comfortable 



NANTUCKET. 103 

in the arisings of the mighty power and love of God, 
who had the glory and praise. 

'' On tlie 24th the Yearly Meeting began at ISTantucket. 
It was large, and continued four days to true satisfac- 
tion, and the name of the Lord was glorified. 

*'* Nantucket, Sixth month 28th, 1755. 
^' ' Here is a very large meeting of professors upon this 
island, which is, with respect to its soil, a sand-bank in 
the sea, about fifteen miles long and three broad. The 
Yearly Meeting finished here this day was very large, 
the place considered ; being more than one thousand 
four hundred, principally professors of truth, at meeting, 
and about four hundred out at sea fishing for whales. 
A convincement there was formerly amongst them, and a 
body of good Friends remains ; but as the richest part 
of the inhabitants embraced the principles of truth from 
conviction, the others thought the expense of maintaining 
a priest would be too heavy for them, and have turned 
Quakers to save money; though I hope, even amongst 
them, the power of the begetting word is in a degree at 
work, to give a surer title to the family of Christ. 

' '^ Samuel Fothergill.' " 

Martha Kouth, on a visit to Friends of Nantucket in 
1794, wrote: "In the South Meeting were about two 
hundred and twenty families. We then went to the 
North, accompanied by Jethro Mitcliell and Sarah Bar- 
ney, two valuable Friends in the station of Elders. In 
that meeting were about one hundred and thirteen 
families." 

First month, 18G9. — Whole number of members of 
the Society of Friends on the Island of Nantucket, 45. 
Six of these are over eighty years of age, vi/. : one is 
92, two are 89, two 85, and one 83. 



4 



104 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTH-FIVE. 

BetTveen TO and 80 the number is 13 ; between 60 and 
YO, ten ; between 40 and 60, twelve, and under 25 there 
are four, two of whom do not attend Friends' Meeting, 
the other two only occasionally. 

These 45 members are in 26 families, and are situated 
thus: two families of four members each, nine families 
of two members each, and the remaining nineteen are 
individuals living either entirely alone, or in the family 
of a relative. 

Within about one year and a half previous to the 
above date, six aged Friends were removed by death, 
aged respectively^, 90, 83, 81 and two 80. 

A DREAM OF MILDRED RATCLIFFE. 

(Related by herself. Fifth month 5th, 1840.) 

^^ Near my father's house in Yirginia, there was a 
worn-out field, no longer worth tilling, which we used to 
call ' the old field.' When I was a little girl, I suppose 
about nine years old (for I sat upon the floor when I 
told my dream to my parents), I dreamt that I saw the 
field full of people, and in the middle of it there was a 
hole about as big as this room, if it were round, and 
from this hole fiames of fire were ascending. After 
awhile I saw the old enemy come out of the hole and 
take hold of one of the people and thrust him headlong 
into the ab^^ss, and the flames boiled up on him. Then 
he took another and served in the same way, and so on. 
It was remarkable that he alwa3^s took those nearest to 
him, but the rest of the multitude seemed to take no 
notice that one b}^ one of their companions was taken 
away. 

*' After awhile, as I gazed in astonishment, I perceived 
that there was but one left beside myself, and that one 



A DREAM OF MILDRED RATCLIFFE. 105 

was presently taken too. The old adversary looked 
around and made directly towards me. Awfully fright- 
ened, I turned to run, and heard a voice distinctly sa}^, 
^As long as ^^ou run from him he will have no power 
over you.' 

'^ It said 'you ' to me then, for it always speaks to us 
in a voice we can understand. 

'' The part of the old field I had to run through was 
a quagmire, and my feet sunk in, and I suffered as much 
as any mortal could suffer in a dream. About a yard 
before me a flame seemed to rise from the ground, and 
I thought surely when I get there I shall be burnt up ; 
but when I reached it, it was a yard further, and so it 
continued till I got out of the field. When I reached 
the road, which was a beautiful level piece of ground, I 
began to go faster and faster, and presently I flew and 
left the old enem^^ behind ; than I slackened my pace, 
and was trying to raise a song of thanksgiving in my 
heart for my deliverance, and proceeding slowly, I sud- 
denly heard the same voice say : ' See where the old 
enemy is.' I cast my eye over my shoulder, and there 
I saw the old adversary with both claws open, ready to 
grasp me. I sprang forward and ran, and soon I flew, 
and did not slack until I got home. I did not stop at 
the porch, for it was no place of safet}^, but as soon as 
I got within the door, all fear was taken away, and I 
turned round and looked the adversary in the face, and 
said, ^ Satan, I am not afraid, I am in my father's house.' 
He dropped a scowl upon me and went awa}^ 

" Mjiny years after, when distant from friends and in a 
lonely state, this dream was opened to my imderstanding. 
The people in the old field were the world ; one by one 
their companions passed to punishment, but they heeded 
it not. 



106 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

^'The toilsome travel through the quagmire, was in 
getting away from my people, the Baptists. The clean 
road was when I got among Friends — but how was I 

instructed, that even here the enemy would clutch us if 
we were off our guard. 

'•But high praises to the good Master, we are always 
safe in our Father's house." 

JOHN VTOOLMAN'S FIRST SERVICE IN ENGLAND. 

John Woolman wrote in his journal : 

''On the 8th day of the Sixth month, 1772, we landed 
at London, and I went straightway to the Yearly Meet- 
ing of ministers and elders, which had hoen gathered. I 
suppose, about half an hour. 

'' In this meeting my heart was humbly contrite." 

His certificate was presented and read, when some one 
remarked. "That perhaps the dedication of the Friend 
might be accepted, and he might feel easy to return to 
his native land." This caused no unkind feeling in John 
Woolman, but conscious that the spirit of the prophets 
is subject to the prophets, he was humbled and deeply 
affected, and his tears flowed freely. 

Then he rose and meekly stated that he did not feel 
any release from his prospect, but could not travel in 
Truth's service without the unity of his Friends, and 
that, while this was withheld, he should not be easy to 
be at any cost to them ; that he was acquainted with the 
trades of a tailor and a shoemaker, and he hoped while 
the impediment continued to be felt. Friends would be 
kindly willing to employ him in such business as he was 
capable of, that he might not be chargeable to any. 

A season of silence ensued, during which tears flowed 
freely from many eyes. After a time. John "Woolman, 



DIVINE PROTECTION. 107 

in the pure openings of trutli, spoke a few words in 
ministry, and the spirit of his Blessed Master bore wit- 
ness to his gift. Friends were favored with true dis- 
cernment, all obstruction was removed, and the flow of 
unity (first expressed by the Friend who had before 
spoken his doubts) became "as a river to swim in." 

A MEMORABLE INSTANCE OF DIVINE GUIDANCE 
AND PROTECTION. 

The following account of some extraordinary circum- 
stances, which atttended James Dickinson and Jane 
Fearnon, both of Cumberland, when on a religious visit 
to Scotland, in the early part of their labor in the Gospel, 
was related by themselves (when each was about eighty 
years of age), to Sarah Taylor, when she was about 
eighteen years old ; the one assisting the other in recol- 
lecting the circumstances as they related them to her. 

It was in the borders, or some part of that nation, 
they were travelling with a person they had procured 
for a guide, to a town they proposed to reach that night, 
which, being a very long stage, and the rains heav}^, Jane 
growing exceedingly fatigued, wished much to have taken 
up short of the town, if a suitable place had offered. 
Their guide assured them there was none, but being 
exceedingly wet and weary, and coming up to a good- 
looking house, James rode up to it, and asked if thc}^ 
could have lodging and necessary accommodations. 
They were told they could, when they determined to 
stop there, which the guide appeared very averse to, but 
finding they would alight, he bade them farewell, saying 
they had no further need of him ; but evidently left them 
with regret, having remonstrated strongly against their 
calling there before they went up to the house, l)ut did 
not choose to speak in the hearing of the family. 



108 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

On their alighting, they were shown into a room with 
a fire in it, which opened into the kitchen, or common 
room, where the famil}' dwelt. Their horses were taken 
care of, their wet things put to dry, and they were, 
aj^parently, likely to be pretty comfortably accommo- 
dated. A posset was made for them, and a cold meat 
pie brought for their suppers ; but on their first sitting 
down in the room, they both grew very uneasy ; which, 
however (not knowing how the other felt), each deter- 
mined to keep to themselves ; till at length Jane said 
that her apprehensions were so great, and her opinion 
of the family so bad, she fully believed the pie to be 
made of human flesh ; which, however, James Dickinson 
thought was scarcely the case, saying he ate of it and 
thought it good. As they sat, Jane observed three very 
ill-looking men come in, and in a low voice, tell the 
landlady they had good horses ; she answered, '* Aye, 
and they have bags too." James' uneasiness increasing, 
his mind became closely engaged to seek for the cause, 
and for Divine counsel how to move ; and under this 
exercise was favored to believe, if they kept close to 
that, and closely attended to its pointings, the}' should 
be preserved, and way made for their escape ; on which 
he inquired about their lodgings, saying they had to 
write, and should want candles, and proposed to retire 
soon. They were shown into a chamber on the side of 
a yard, with two beds in it. without any bolt to the 
door ; btit observing a form or bench in the room, tried, 
and found by placing one end against the door, it would 
just wedge in between it and one of the beds. On their 
being thus shut into the room, Jane sat down on one of 
the beds, and manifested her distress by wringing her 
hands, and saying she believed they never should go 
alive out of that house. On which James sat down by 



DIVINE PROTECTION. 109 

her and told her to be still ; that he had been under 
equal distress of mind from their first sitting down in 
the house, but under that exercise, and seeking for best 
help, his mind had been favored by that which never 
had deceived him, to believe, if they carefully minded 
its pointings, they should be directed how to escape. On 
which they sat in perfect stillness for some considerable 
time, attentively waiting for best direction ; when at last 
James told Jane the time for them to flee for their lives 
was then come ; and having, on their first coming into 
the room, observed a door opposite to that they came in 
at, and on opening it, found it led to a pair of stone 
stairs, on the outside of the house next the road, and 
believing that was the way for them to get off, he bade 
Jane put off her shoes, as he also did, and softly opened 
that door; when they perceived by a light through a 
chink, between the first stone and the house, a woman 
sharpening a large knife. Going softly down the steps 
and on the road, till out of hearing of the house, they 
then went as quick as they possibly could, James desiring 
Jane to run, and taking her arm to assist her in getting 
forward. 

After going about a quarter or half a mile from the 
house, under heavy rain, they discovered a sort of hovel, 
or cot, where the}^ tried to rest themselves, there being 
some hay or straw left for the cattle, but found, by the 
painful impression renewed on their minds, this was not 
safe; then, notwithstanding their excessive weariness, 
and Jane being ready to sink with discouragement, Jamej 
urged the necessity of exerting themselves, under the 
firm hope that they should be preserved ; and they went 
forward as fast as they could till they came to the side 
of water, the course of which they followed to a bridge, 
over which they attempted to pass, but felt restrained 



110 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

when they ^vere upon it. On which Jnmes said that was 
not their way ; so they turned and Avent forward, keeping 
down the course of the water, which, when they had 
proceeded about half a mile farther, increasing greatl}^ 
in breadth, James stopped, and told Jane they must 
cross at that place ; which exceedingly' alarmed her ; 
haA'ing given way to so much discouragement, she could 
scarcely lay hold of hope that they should not totally 
sink under their present situation, and she told James 
she apprehended if they went into the water they should 
be drowned. But he endeavored to cheer her, reminding 
her of the evidence he had of their preservation, if they 
kept a steady eye to the best direction, which he believed 
had led them thus far, and that their wav was throuo-h 
the water at that place, and he believed they should get 
safely to the other side. Whereupon, with the help of 
his arm, she ventured, and they passed safely through; 
walking some distance they came to a sand-bank ; here 
sitting down, James said to Jane, '* I am not yet easy, 
we must go farther.'' Upon which she replied, '' Well, 
I must go by thy faith ; I know not what to do." Going 
a little farther, they found another sand-bank, in which 
was a cavity, where they sat down. After they had been 
there a little while, James said. •* I am now easy, believe 
we are perfectly safe, and feel in my heart a song of 
thanksgiving and praise.'' Jane replied, *• I am so far 
from that, I cannot so much as say. the Lord have mercy 
upon us." When they had been there about half an hour, 
they heard the noise of people on the opposite side of 
the river; upon which James, finding Jane alarmed, and 
thence fearing they should be discovered, softly said to 
her, '• Our lives depend upon our silence.'' Then atten- 
tively hearkening, they heard them frequently say. ** Seek 
'em. Keeper." and believed they were the men they saw 



DiVmE PROTECTION. Ill 

at the house, accompanied by a dog ; that the dog, refus- 
ing to go over the bridge, had followed the scent of their 
feet a^long the river-side to the place they had crossed 
from ; vfhen, stopping, the people again repeatedly cried, 
^' Seek 'em. Keeper," which they not only heard, but saw 
the people with a lantern. They also heard one of them 
say, they had there crossed th^ river ; upon which 
another replied, '' That's impossible, unless the devil 
took them over, for the river is brink full." After 
wearying themselves a considerable time in the search, 
they went away, and James Dickinson and Jane Pearnon 
saw them no more. When daylight appeared, they saw 
a man on a high hill at some distance, looking about him 
every way. They continued quiet in this retreat until 
some time after sunrise, when, upon taking a view of 
their situation, they discovered that under the first sand- 
bank, whence they removed, they might have been seen 
from the other side of the river, and that the place the}" 
continued in shaded them from being seen from the 
opposite side, which they had been insensible of, as they 
could not make the observation the night before. Upon 
their considering what they should do to recover their 
horses, saddle-bags, &c., James said, " I incline to return 
to the house." But Jane proposed their going to a town, 
in order to procure assistance to go with them to the 
hovise ; 1;o which James replied, the town from which 
assistanoe was likely to l)e obtained was about ten miles 
distant; that they were strangers, and had nothing to do 
with them. Jane still hesitating, he said, " I still incline 
to return to the house, fully believing our horses, clothes, 
&c., will be ready for us, without our being asked a 
question, and the people we saw last night we shall see 
no more." Jane said, " I think I dare not go back." 
James said, '' Thou mayest, Jane, safel}-, for I have seen 



112 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-nVE. 

it in that wliicli never failed me.-' Upon which they 
returned to the house, and found their horses standing: 
in the stable saddled, and their saddle-bags upon them, 
their clothes dried, and laid read}^ to put on, and saw no 
person but an old woman sitting in a nook by the fireside, 
whom they did not remember seeing the night before. 
They asked her what they had to pa}', discharged it, and 
proceeded on their journey. 

Some time afterwards James Dickinson, travelling the 
same way in Truth's service, passed the place where the 
house had stood, but found it was pulled down and totally 
destroyed ; and on coming to the town they had thought 
to have gone to, when they stopped there on account of 
the heavy rain, as before related, he inquired what was 
become of the people, and the cause of the house being 
in ruins ; when he was told that some time after Jane 
and he were there, some travellers who were observed to 
go there to lodge were missing, and it having been long 
under a very bad name, and the people strongly sus- 
pected of murdering many who had gone there, the 
neighborhood with general consent beset the house, tak- 
ing out the people, and searching the house and its 
environs, found the bodies of the above mentioned, with 
many others in different states of decay, who had evi- 
dently been murdered, and I think some parts of their 
bodies wanting, with a great quantity of clothes supposed 
to belong to them ; on which the people were tried, and 
I think five of them executed, and the house razed to the 
ground. 

Sarah Taylor, who received the foregoing narrative 
from James Dickinson and Jane Fearnon, was at the 
house of Lindley Murray, near York, during the time of 
the autumn Quarterly Meeting in 1^90, when the above 



MARY DYER. 113 

account being read to her, she confirmed the same, being 
then about seventy-four years of age. 



PLAIN DRESS, ETC. 

OBSERVATIONS OF AN AMERICAN ENVOY. 

After transacting some business with a member of the 
Society of Friends in London, he said, " I admire your 
Society; the principle contains all of Christianity I have 
any idea of ; but I am sorry to see that some of you are 
losing your badge, and I do not see how you can retain 
your principles and forego your little peculiarities, your 
marks of self-denial and difference from the spirit of the 
world. You are lights ; the world should come to you, 
and not you go to the world. You may gather them, 
but they will scatter you.'^ 



MARY DYER. 

(Copy of a letter written by Mary Dyer the day before her expected execution. 
The original fs on file among the Massachusetts Records. ) 

The superscription is as follows, viz. : 

"Mary Dyer's letter to the Court, presented by her 
Sonne, and read in open Court, 26th 8 mo. (Oct.) 1659." 

The Letter. 

" from marie dire to ye Generall court this present 26th 
of the 8th month '59, assembled in ye towne of boston, 
in New Ingland, greeting of grace, mercy, peace to every 
soul yt doth well : tribulation, anguish, and wrath to all 
yt doth evill. 

" Whereas it is said by many of you yt I am guilty of 



114 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

mine own rl^ath by my coming, as you cal it, voluntarily 
to boston ; I therefore declare unto every one that hath 
an ear to hear ; yt in 3^6 fear, peace & love of God I 
came, & in wel doing did & still doth commit my soul as 
to a faithful Creator, who for this very end hath pre- 
served my life untill now through many trialls & tempta- 
tions, having held out his royall sceptre unto mee, by 
w^hich I have accesse into his presence & have found such 
favour in his sight as to offer up my life for the truth and 
people's sake's, whom the enimie hath moved yon again 
without a cause, to make such laws, as by him is intended 
utterl}^ to root out & keep back from among 3'ou ye holy 
people & seed, which ye Lord hath blessed forever, 
called by ye children of darkness (cursed quakers) for 
whom the Lord is rising to plead with all such as shal 
touch his anointed, or doe his prophets any harm, there- 
fore in the bowels of love & compassion I beseech you 
to repeal al such laws as tend to this purpose & let the 
truth and Servants of God have fre passage among you, 
for verily 3^e enimie that hath done this cannot in any 
measure countervail 3^e gread damage 3 1 will fal upon 
3^ou, if 3^ou continue to keep such laws. Woe is me for 
3"0u. Was there ever 3^e like laws heard of, made by 
such as profess Christ come in the flesh ? Have such no 
other weapons to fight with against si:)iritual wickedness 
as 3^ou call it? Of whom take 3^ou counsel? Search 
with the light of Christ in you, & that will show 3^ou of 
w^hom as it hath done me, & many more, who hath been 
disobedient, & deceived, as 3'ou now are, which secret 
light as 3"0U come into, & obe3ing w^hat's made manifest 
to 3 ou therein, 3^ou will not repent that you were kept 
from shedding blood, though 'twere b3^ a woman : Its not 
my own life I seek for (I chuse rather to suffer with 3'e 
people of God than to enjo3^ the pleasures of Eg3^pt) but 



MARY DYER. 115 

ye life of ye seed, which I know ye Lord hath blessed, 
& therefore seeks ye enimie thus vehemently ye life 
thereof to destroy as in al ages he did. Oh ! hearken 
not unto him I beseech you for ye seed's sake, which is 
one in al, & deare in ye sight of God, which they that 
touch, toucheth the apple of his eye & cannot escape his 
wrath, of which I having felt cannot but persuade al men 
yt I have to doe withal, especially you, who nameth ye 
name of Christ, to depart from such iniquity as blood- 
shed even of ye saints of ye most High. I have no self 
end ye Lord knows, for, if my life were freely granted 
by 3^ou, it would not be accepted soe long as I shal dayly 
see or hear the sufferings of my dear brethren & sisters 
(with whom my life is bound up) as I have this 2 years, 
and now its likely to increase even unto death for noe evil 
doing but being among you ; therefore let my request 
have as much acceptance with you (if you be Christians) 
as Esther had with Ahasuerus, whose relation is short of 
that, that is betwixt Christians, & my request is ye same 
that hers was to ye king, who said, not that he had mad 
a law, & it was dishonorable for him to revoke it, but 
when he understood that those people were so prised by 
her & so nearly concerned her, as in words of truth and 
soberness I have here expressed you, that these are the 
same to mee, you know by the history what he did for 
her, I therefore leave these lines with you, appealing to 
ye ftxithful & true witness of God ; which is one in al 
conscienses, before whom wee must all appeare, with 
whom I do & shal eternally rest in everlasting joy Sc 
peace. Whether you will hear or forbear, I am clear of 
your blood, but 3^ou cannot be so of ours, but wil be 
charged therewith by 3^e Lord, before whom al your 
coverings wil be too narrow for you ; but to me to live is 
Christ, & to die is gain though I had not your 48 hours 



116 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

warning for the preparation of the cruel, & in your 
esteme, cursed death of mee, Marie dire. Know this also 
yt, if through ye enmity you shall declare yourselves 
worse than ye heathen king & confirme your law, though 
'twere but by taking the life of one of us, yt the Lord 
will overthrow you & your laws by his righteous judg- 
ment & plagues powered justly on you, who now, whilst 
you are warned hereof & tenderly sought unto avoid ye 
one by removing ye other, will not hear nor obey the 
Lord nor his servants, yet will he send more of his 
servants among you, soe your end shall be frustrated yt 
think to restrain them you call quakers from cominge 
amonge you by anything you can do to them, yea verily 
he hath a seed that suffereth among you, for whom we 
have suffered al this while, & yt yet suffereth, whom ye 
Lord of ye harvest wil send forth more laborers to gather 
(out of ye mouths of devourers of al sorts) into his fold, 
when he will lead them into fresh pastures, even the paths 
of righteousness for his name's sake. Oh, let none ot 
you put this good day far from you, which verily in ye 
light of ye Lord I see approaching to many in and about 
Boston, which is the bitterest, darkest professing place 
& soe to continue soe long as you don yt I ever heard of. 
O let the time past suffice of such a profession as brings 
forth such fruits as these laws are. In love & in the 
spirit of meekness I again beseech you, for I have no 
enmity to the persons of anj^, but you shall know that 
God is not mocked, but what 3^ou sow yt shal you reap 
from him, 3 1 will render to ever}^ one according to their 
deeds don in his bod}^, whether good or evil, even so be 
it saith Marie dire, who also desireth yt ye people called 
quakers in prison, that's in ye town of Boston at ye time 
of our execution, may accompanie us to ye place & see 
ye bodyes buried." 



EDWARD WANTON. 117 

EDWARD WANTOK. 

(The following was furnished to the editors of a late paper, by " a descendant 
of Edward Wanton.") 

Edward Wanton was a conspicuous merchant of Boston 
at the period when the persecution of Friends was most 
virulent. At the time of the execution of Mary Dyer, 
in Boston, he attended at the execution in an official 
capacity, whether as sheriff or captain of the train-band, 
I never ascertained. 

lie was very deeply touched by her language and de- 
portment, and on returning to the house he removed his 
sword, saying to his mother, he '' should never wear it 
again, as they had been killing the people of the Lord." 
He suffered great mental anguish for a long time, but at 
length he found peace, and became a member and min- 
ister in the Society of Friends. He underwent severe 
persecutions in Boston, which cannot be detailed within 
the limits of this brief article ; but he at length removed 
to the town of Scituate, and was instrumental in gather- 
ing a large and flourishing Friends' meeting in that 
place, chiefly from those who had been members of the 
Congregational Church. This was quite sufficient to 
bring upon him the hatred of the minister of the place, 
who lost no opportunity of persecuting him, and he was 
made the constant object of reviling, both in the pulpit 
and in social life. On the occasion of his second mar- 
riage, which was celebrated after the manner of the 
Society of Friends, the priest instituted a suit against 
him, and obtained a very large verdict, in a court which 
was deeply prejudiced. This flue he refused to pay, and 
it was collected from him by distraint, which caused a 
k)ss of property to at least double the amount of the 
iiqe, I h^ve a uiauuscrij)! account of th<'se tines written 



118 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

with his own hand. He built the meeting-house at 
Scituate with his own money, and by will left means to 
keep it in repair. 

He attended the Yearly Meeting at Newport as a rep- 
resentative in his eighty-fifth year, and its records show 
that he was in its service on all the most important com. 
mittees that were appointed that year. He was a bold 
and eloquent minister, and had great power of convincing 
men's reason, hy clear and glowing exhibitions of the 
truth. He was not onl^^ instrumental in gathering a 
large meeting in Scituate, but several neighboring meet- 
ings were greatl}^ aided by his ministerial labors, as well 
as by counsel and advice. 

His sons, John and Joseph, removed to Rhode Island, 
and both became A^ery eminent ministers. The former 
was for many years Governor of the colony. He was a 
man of excellent education and address, and his ministry 
was attended by large crowds of people as long as he 
lived. He was summoned to England in the reign of 
Queen Anne, and became a great favorite with her. She 
offered to confer upon him the honor of Knighthood, 
which he declined, but she did give him a coat-of-arms, 
and a magnificent silver gilt bowl as a memorial of her 
esteem. 

No less than seven of Edward Wanton's descendants 
filled the gubernatorial chair of Rhode Island, and most 
of them were worthy and consistent members of the 
Society of Friends. 

JOHNSALKELD. 

John Salkeld, of Delaware, though an eccentric man, 
was a favored minister. John Churchman, in his early 
days, took an opportunity to labor with him for allowing 



PRESERVATION OF A FAMILY OF FRIENDS. 119 

his eccentricities to carry him sometimes too far. The 
aged minister listened to all his young friend had to say, 
and then quietly answered, " Why, John, I have overcome 
ten times as much as thou ever had to contend with." 



REMAKKABLE PRESERVATION OF A FAMILY OF 
FRIENDS. 

The following account of the remarkable preservation 
of a family of Friends, residing about two miles from 
Dublin, during the rebellion in the year lY98,in which 
more than one hundred thousand lives were lost, was 
narrated by the mother of the family to Richard Jordan, 
of America, when on a religious visit to Europe, and 
related by him to some friends at Baltimore, in 1825. 
He observed : '^ Such is my confidence in the integrity 
of the Friend, that I have no more doubt of the facts 
than if I had myself witnessed them.' 

^^ The family were dwelling at a beautiful villa, hand- 
somely situated and highly cultivated ; and whilst assem- 
bled one afternoon around their peaceful and happy 
fireside, they were rudely assailed by a party of insur- 
gents, who surrounded the house, and forced an entrance. 
The leader of this band of ruffians informed the family 
that they must prepare for death, as he was determined 
to murder every member of the family as heretics, and 
burn their house and property. As they were proceeding 
to fulfill their murderous intention, a secret compunction 
of mind on the part of the officer arrested their pro- 
gress; and after a short delay, he told them he had 
concluded to give them twenty-four hours' respite, dur- 
ing which they might consider his proposals ; that thoy 
would return at the same time, four o'clock, the succeed- 
ing day, and if they were then willing to change their 



120 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

religion, and become Roman Catholics, their lives and 
property should be saved; but if not, every individual 
should be murdered, and the property razed to the 
ground. They then withdrew. In this hour of extrem- 
ity, their faith and constancy were put to a severe test, 
and the intermediate period was passed under feelings 
which can better be conceived than described. 

'^ The following was their regular meeting day, and 
the mother proposed to her husband that the family 
should rise earl}^ partake of a light repast, and every 
member of it repair to the meeting-place, there to mingle 
once more in social worship with their beloved friends, 
before the hour of their suffering arrived. Her husband, 
however, deemed such a proceeding unwise, and they were 
brought into deep mental conflict, with fervent desires 
that they might be rightly guided in the struggle between 
religious duty on the one hand, and apprehensions for 
the safety of their beloved family on the other. 

^^They assembled the family to deliberate on the 
course they should pursue in this painful exigency, with 
a degree of humble confidence that Divine direction 
would be afforded them ; and after a time of solenan re- 
tirement of mind, they spread the subject before their 
children. The excellent and amiable mother still pressed 
the propriety of going to meeting; but the father could 
not conceal his fears that it would lead to greater suf- 
fering. Their eldest son, with Christian fortitude and 
magnanimity, encouraged his parents to go, saying ;• 
/ Father, rejoice that we are found worthy to suffer ;' a 
remark which greatly affected his parents, and so 
strengthened their minds, that they at once concluded 
to make the attempt. 

"• In the morning they accordingly proceeded to their 
place of worship, taking the public highway instead of 



PRESERVATION OF A FAMILY OF FRIENDS. 121 

going through the fields, to avoid the armed insurgents, 
as was usually done, and through Divine protection they 
reached the meeting in safety. 

" They sat with their friends in awful reverence, wait- 
ing on the great Preserver of men, and though their 
minds were deeply affected with the gloomy prospect be- 
fore them, yet a degree of living faith was renewed in 
their hearts, under which they were strengthened to cast 
themselves entirely on the protection of the Almighty. 
The meeting closed, and their minds were comforted and 
refreshed in having thus fulfilled what they considered a 
religious duty. But now a new trial commenced, in con- 
sidering whether it would be right to return home into 
'the power of their enemies, of whom they were now clear, 
or to pursue an opposite course, and seek a place of 
safety for themselves and children. Their faith, how- 
ever, bore them up in this time of deep proving, and 
after solidly weighing the matter they believed it their 
duty to return home. The struggle, notwithstanding, 
was severe, for nature must necessarily feel keenly when 
our lives, and those whom we hold most dear, are at 
stake ; but as they journeyed onward with their hearts 
lifted up in prayer to the Lord, the mother's mind was 
powerfully impressed by the recollection of the 14th 
verse of the 60th chapter of Isaiah, viz.: ' The sons also 
of them that afi^icted thee shall come bending unto thee, 
and all they that despised thee shall bow themselves 
down at the soles of thy feet.' The recollection of this 
passage of the Holy Scriptures was accompanied by such 
an assurance of Divine regard and protection being ex- 
tended to them that she clapped her hands for joy, and 
expressed to her husband and children the confidence she 
felt that they should be cared for. 

^^ On reaching home they all assembled and sat down iu 



122 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

silent, reverent waiting on that God who careth for all 
His humble and obedient children, and thus awaited the 
impending stroke. 

'• The clock struck four, but their persecutors came not. 
The King's troops had landed from England, and marched 
rapidly into the neighborhood, while the insurgents were 
flying in every direction to escape their pursuit. In less 
than two weeks the same imrty came to the house of the 
Friend, and on their knees implored the protection of 
the family to hide them from their pursuers, and save 
them from the destruction which they had so lately 
threatened to inflict on them. 

"" Thus they were relieved from their painful state of 
suspense, and had cause to be humbly and deeply thank- 
ful for the merciful preservation extended to them, con- 
firming their faith in the all-sufficiency of their gracious 
Redeemer.-' 

The substance of the foregoing narrative was related 
by Richard Jordan in a First-day morning meeting in 
Baltimore, at a time when many deluded persons in our 
Society were endeavoring to undervalue the Holy Scrij)- 
tures ; and E. Jordan took occasion to show not only the 
kind protecting care of a gracious Providence over His 
faithful children, and the divine support vouchsafed 
through the immediate operations of the Holy Spirit, but 
also that He was pleased to make the Scriptures of Truth 
a source of unspeakable consolation to His believing fol- 
lowers, opening and sealing them on their minds m a 
manner beyond the reach or comprehension of the wise 
and prudent of this world ; concluding with these words, 
^* Friends, I am not prepared to give up the Holy Scrii> 
tures.*' (See ^' The Friend,*' vol. viii, p. 215. and vol, 
5vii, p. 1390 



MARY GRIFFIN. 123 



MARY GRIFFIN. 



Mary Griffin, of Nine Partners, New York, was the 
daughter of a zealous Presbyterian. Her quickness of 
perception was apparent about her sixth year, when, 
being present while her parents were conversing about 
their minister's salarj^, the mother remarked, '' We must 
not starve the Gospel ; " Mary replied, " That is impos- 
sible, mother, for it is the power of God unto sah^ation, 
to every one that believeth." Being allowed by her 
parents to frequent balls, she was once engaged in 
dancing, when her mind was solemnly impressed with the 
sin of thus misspending her time, and she immediately 
took her seat. On being asked the cause, she honestly 
told it, and refused ever again to partake in like amuse- 
ments, thus bearing a testimony to the principles of a 
society of which she had never heard. 

When quite young she married among her own people, 
and continued a member with them, till hearing that one 
called a Quaker had appointed a meeting in the neigh- 
borhood, her mind was drawn to attend it ; but her 
husband being away, and only two little children in the 
family, she was at a loss how to manage, as the meeting 
was to be in the evening. But she put her children to 
bed, and when they were asleep, set out for the meeting, 
secretly saying, '' I have faith to believe that kind 
Providence will care for them." She had to travel on 
foot four miles, and cross a stream, from which the bridge 
had been carried awa}^ ; bat she waded through the 
strong current, and arrived at the meeting ; during which 
the following passage was so frequently presented, that 
she believed it right to express it : '' Though thou exalt 
thyself as the eagle, and though thou set thy nest nmong 
the stars, thence will I bring tlieo down, saith the Lord," 



124 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

After sitting clown, she felt great peace ; returned home 
rejoicing, and found her children safe. At that time she 
wore a scarlet cloak, edged with fur. 

It afterward appeared there was a man in that meeting 
about to engage in conduct injurious to his friends, who 
was so overcome by her communication, that he made a 
public acknowledgment thereof, and afterward became 
a member. 

She soon after joined herself to Friends, and became 
an approved minister in her 20th year. It appeared she 
had not reflected on the inconsistency of her dress until 
a Friend remarked to her, ^' Laces proceed from pride, 
pride from sin, and sin leads down lower than the grave." 
She immediately laid aside all superfluities. 

When abont ninety-five years of age, she paid a satis- 
factory visit to some of the meetings in Xine Partners 
and Stamford Quarters, and in her one hundredth year 
visited the families of Xine Partners Meeting, and had 
several public meetings, in which she was greatly favored. 
Her natural faculties were reduced to a state of second 
childhood, while the spiritual part grew brighter and 
brighter. At one of these public meetings, a Baptist 
preacher was present, who afterward called at her lodg- 
ings to converse with her on the subject of inspiration, 
in which he did not believe. Being shown into her room, 
he found her sitting upon the floor, amused with play- 
things. He immediately withdrew, saying all his 
inquiries were answered, as she was herself a memorable 
proof of Divine Inspiration. 

Near the close of her life she thus addressed her 
children and grandchildren, '' Fear the Lord above all 
things, and keep to your religious meetings.*' She died 
20th of Twelfth month, 1810, aged upward of one hun- 
dred vears, a minister four score. 



COMFORT COLLINS. 125 



COMFORT COLLINS. 

MATTHEW franklin's ACCOUNT OF A VISIT TO COMFORT 
COLLINS, IN THE YEAR 1812. 

^^ We called to see Comfort Collins, aged one hundred 
and one years, and eight months. A more instructive 
and precious opportunity I never remember. All her 
faculties have in a manner fled, except religious sensi- 
bility. She has no recollection of ever having had a 
husband or children, houses or lands ; nor does she 
remember her nearest friend. Yet her sense of Divine 
good, and the religious savor of her mind are unabated. 

'^ We staid with her about an hour, during which time 
she was continually engaged in praising her Maker; 
exhorting us to love the Lord and lay up treasure in 
Heaven ; often saying, ' One hour in the Lord's presence 
is worth a thousand elsewhere ; I know it, friends, I know 
it ;' and her voice would settle away with that kind of 
melod}^ which dear old Mary Griffin used to make. 
Then, after being still a minute or t^o, would again lift 
up her voice with angelic sweetness, praising the Lord, 
and exhorting us to love and fear Him. 

'' Looking round upon us, she would say, ' Though you 
are strangers to me, dear friends, yet I love you all ; I 
love all them that love the Lord, blessed be His holy 
name.' She held Elizabeth Purington and myself by 
the hand, nearly all the time we staid ; the whole com- 
pany were in tears. 

^' The remembrance of this opportunity, I hope, will 
never be effaced from my mind, for I think Mary Grillin 
and Comfort Collins are the most remarkable instances 
of the reality and rectitude of the principles of light and 



126 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

life I ever met with, next to the influences thereof on 
my own souh 

^•About the 3'ear 1760, Comfort Collins embarked with 
Sarah Barne}^, of Xantucket, to pay a religious visit to 
Friends in Europe. When they had been awhile at sea, 
she pleasantly told her companion, ' she believed the will 
icas taken for the deed.' ' How is that ? ' said the Friend, 
'we are now on the way.' ' No matter,' said Comfort, 
' keep this to thyself, and we shall see.' Soon after, the 
vessel sprang a leak, the captain thought it best to 
return, and they were set on shore. 



ANECDOTE OF JOHN FLETCHER, OF MADELEY. 

John Fletcher, the pious vicar of Madeley, near Coal- 
brookdale, in England, on one occasion, on ascending 
his pulpit with the intention of preaching a sermon which 
he had previously prepared for the purpose, suddenly 
found that he could not remember any part of the ser- 
mon, nor even the text. He feared he would have to 
come down without saying anything, but gathering his 
mind into calm collectedness, he remembered the circum- 
stance of the three men of old who were cast into the 
fiery furnace, with the divine preservation they witnessed, 
and he concluded to say something in regard to it. In 
doing so he found, as he afterwards related, '' such an 
extraordinary assistance from God, and such a singular 
enlargement of heart," that he supposed there must be 
some peculiar cause for it. He therefore desired that 
if am^ of the congregation had met with anj^thing par- 
ticular, the}' would acquaint him with it. 

Three da3'S afterwards, a female of his congregation 
called on him and gave him the following account, viz. : 



JOHN rLETCHEK, 127 

" Mrs. K. ]iad been for some time much concerned about 
her soul. She attended the church at all opportunities, 
and spent much time in private prayer. At this her hus- 
band (who was a butcher) was exceedingly enraged, and 
threatened severely what he would do if she did not leave 
off going to John Fletcher's church — yea, if she dared to 
go any more to any religious meeting whatever. When 
she told him she could not in conscience refrain from 
going, he grew quite outrageous, and swore dreadfull3r 
that if she went any more he would cut her throat as soon 
as she came home. This made her cr}^ mightily to the 
Lord to support her in the trying hour. She determined 
to go on in her duty and leave the event to Him. Last 
Sunday," continued the informant," after many struggles 
with the devil and her own heart, she came down stairs 
ready for church. Her husband asked her whether she 
was resolved to go thither; she told him she was. ^ Well 
then,' said he, ' I shall not, as I intend(^d, cut your throat ; 
but I will heat the oven and throw 3^ou into it the moment 
you come home.' Notwithstanding this threat, which 
he enforced with many bitter oaths, she went, praying 
all the way that God would strengthen her to suffer 
whatever might befall her. While you were speaking 
of the three Hebrews whom Nebuchadnezzar cast into 
the burning fiery furnace, she found it all belonged to 
her, and God applied every word to her heart. She felt 
her whole soul so filled with His love that she hastened 
home, fully determined to give herself to whatever the 
Lord pleased, nothing doubting but that either He would 
take her to heaven if He suffered her to be burned to 
death, or that He would in some way deliver her, even 
as He did His three servants that trusted in Him. But 
when she opened the door, to her astonishment and 
comfort she found her husband's wrath abated, and soon 



128 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

had reason to believe that he was under a concern for 
the salvation of his own soul.*' 

In a few days her husband joined the congregation 
himself, and John Fletcher adds, that he now understood 
why his sermon had been taken from him. — Benson^s 
Life of Fletcher, 



LETTER FROM JOHN THORP TO RICHARD 
REYNOLDS. 

Manchester, Twelfth month 25th, 1804. 

My dear Friend : I will relate to thee, at this time, 
a short anecdote which I had from James Thornton, of 
America, one of the first of the first rank, who have 
visited us from that quarter of the world. He said, when 
Anthou}^ Benezet was in his last illness and very near 
his death, he went to see him. Anthony had been long 
distinguished as a lover and benefactor of mankind ; but 
when James came into the room, he said he never had 
been more deeply impressed with a sense of spiritual 
povert}^, than he was at that time ; and as he sat under 
these feelings, a view opened, how little all the merits 
of good works can avail, or be relied on at such ^ time, 
or an^'thing short of our Holy Redeemer. He took leave 
of him under these impressions, and the good man died, 
I think, ver}" soon after, and James attended his burial ; 
but, he said, when he entered into the house, it felt to 
him as if it were divinely perfumed ; something so like 
the opening of heaven, and a sense of the Divine Pres- 
ence, as he had at no other time experienced. What a 
striking conformity between the death of this good man 
and that of his blessed Master 1 I thought this little 
story deserved to be remembered. 



DAVID SANDS. 129 

With the salutation of love, in which I wish us both a 
continual increase, I am thy affectionate friend, 

John Thorp. 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES IN THE EXPERL 
ENCE OF DAYID SANDS. 

In the year 1840, our ancient friend, Joseph Hoag, spent part of the winte? 
with his son, J. D. H,, in New Brighton, Penna., and part with our friend 
Samuel Armstrong, near Fairfield, Columbiana County, Ohio, at whose house 
he relat3d the following narratives ; also, at D. K.'s house [then] in New 
Brighton, Penna. (as near as the latter can remember) ; which he had received 
from David Sands himself, at a time when they were relating to one another 
the wonderful dealings of Grod's mercy. 

Salem, Ohio, 1872. D. K. 

''At one time, when David Sands was on a religious 
visit in England, he felt a concern to go to Scotland, but 
was discouraged on account of lack of money to defray 
the expense of the journey, having only one pound ster- 
ling. While walking in the street of a city, feeling con- 
cerned as to how he should be enabled to undertake the 
journey, he came to an auction room, and felt like step- 
ping in. The auctioneer held out two silver tea-pots of 
a very ancient date, and asked for an offer. David bid 
one pound, tlie auctioneer cried ' Sold,^ and handed them 
to him ; he paid for them and walked on, wondering to 
himself what he was to do with the tea-pots ; but having 
bought them by direction of a feeling made known in 
his heart, he had fiiith to believe there was a design in it 
for his good ; which soon proved true, for he had not 
walked far before a person accosted him and inquired 
whether the tea-pots were for sale, adding, ' I have come 
a great way to buy them, but was a little too late. Those 
tea-pots belonged to my predecessors, and I would like to 



130 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-PlVE. 

have them, if you will be so kind as to sell them to me.' 
David replied, ' I have no use for them, thou canst have 
them ; give me what thou thinks they are worth to thee.' 
The stranger said, ' I am very willing to give you five 
pounds.' The answer was, ' Thou canst have them.' 
So the stranger gave him the money and went his way. 
'^ David was thankful that he had been faithful to the 
divine impression, and his faith was much strengthened 
to go on his way, and watch closely his feelings, to know 
what the Lord might require at his hand in Scotland, 
^ seeing that He will provide for those who are faithful 
in this our day, as He hath done in former days.' 

^' David Sands, after his visit to Scotland (of which 
many interesting incidents are recorded), returned to 
England, much worn in mind and body, as well as in his 
apparel. The Lord Jesus, whom he served, directed him 
to a town where a very rich member of the Society of 
Friends lived. It was made known to him that he was 
to go to that rich man's house and rest there, and wait 
for further direction. So he went in faith, and calling 
at the door, a servant came and asked what he wanted. 
David said he wanted to see the owner of the house. 
The servant said, ' I w ill go and see whether it is suitable 
to come before my master.' He offered David a chair 
in the hall, and went towards the parlor, but David fol- 
lowed closely, and as the servant spoke, entered and 
said, * I am a pilgrim of the Lord Jesus Christ ; I am 
much worn, and the Lord has directed me here, saying 
'• I have blessed him much, go and partake of the blessing 
with a little rest." The servant stepped back, and the 
master of the house, being much offended at his bold 
entrance with such language, went out and told his wife 
what had occurred. She, being of a more Christian 
disposition than lier husband, said,' Please be not hasty 



DAVID SANDS. 131 

in turning him out of the house, but let us first see who 
and what he is.' She went into the parlor, and asked 
David some questions as to whether he was a Friend, &c., 
whereupon he showed her his certificates. She then 
returned to her husband, and pleading that the Friend 
should remain with them, he at length consented that 
he might stay in the kitchen with the servants. David 
gladly accepted the situation and went into the kitchen, 
where he found, among the servants, some who were far 
more of true Friends than their master and mistress. 
And they soon observed that David was a true Friend, 
and had much experience in the Christian warfare, and 
they enjoyed his company very much. The mistress 
of the house, hearing him conversing with the servants, 
soon perceived that the stranger was a very intelligent 
Friend, and was interested in his company among her 
servants. She then began to plead with her husband to 
allow him to come into their parlor ; to which he at 
length consented, provided she would giA^e him a better 
suit of clothes (as his old ones were much worn). This 
she soon did, and he was invited into the parlor. He 
at first refused to go, sa3dng he was well suited with 
his company, and the servants were not well pleased at 
losing so interesting a companion. 

*' David walked to meeting with his cane, while the 
professed Friends (the master and mistress) rode in a 
line coach, witli a finel^^ dresscnl driver, aud a servant be- 
hind. But David, in liis liumble wny,wns much favored 
in their meetings, and was made instrumental iu awaken- 
ing fresh life thcreiu. 

^' These Friends with whom David made his home, had 
four children, two sons and two daugiiters, who were all 
in Paris to l(;arn the refinements of the world, aud the 
time had now come for their rcituni home. ^Fhere were 



132 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

great prei^arations made for their reception, and in great 
pomp and show they came, and were so received by the 
family. David received them in his plain, Christian way, 
which attracted their attention, it being stich a contrast 
to what they had been accustomed to : and they also 
soon began to feel an attachment to him. 

'•After some time, one morning at the breakfast table, 
David asked whether there were not some Friends living 
in the north part of the country ; he was informed that 
there were some meeting-houses belonging to the Society, 
but no Friends were living there. He said he felt a re- 
ligious concern to visit that part, and his Master directed 
him to look to him (the master of the hotise) for an outfit 
and company. Btit the answer was, ' I am not fit to go 
on stieh errands.' In a few mornings after, David again 
mentioned his concern to them ; then the Friend said he 
could not go himself, but if he would, David might take 
his eldest son and daughter with him, having no thought 
that his children would go, or that David would accept 
them ; bttt they expressed a willingness to go. Then the 
father asked whether he wotild not be ashamed to take 
them, as they made no appearance of Friends in dress 
or manners. Btit David was willing they shotild go with 
him, and was then told he might take one of the car- 
riages ; but he felt no freedom to do so, painted and 
gilded as they were, and needing an extra person to sit 
otitside and drive. A more stiitable one was furnished, 
in which the driver cotild sit inside. Being now provided 
with an outfit, and himself being driver, David set out 
with his gay young companions. 

" On the way, from time to time, he felt engaged to 
speak to them of the Trtith as it is in Jesus, and in ac- 
cordance with the Holy Scriptures. They felt more and 
more interested in the principles held by Friends, and 



DAVID SANDS. 133 

became convinced thereof in this journey. The truth 
was also received by the people with great convincement, 
so that four of the old meeting-houses were repaired, 
and meetings again established. 

^' The children, on their return, told their parents of the 
wonderful grace of God to the people, and that they w^ere 
also convinced thereof, and could no longer wear their 
fashionable clothing, but must dress plainly. 

*' The father, being a fashionable man, was much affected 
hy the convincement of his children, though at lirst op- 
posed to it, but their faithfulness to conviction made him 
at last say, ' If they would dress so, they would have to 
be good Quakers, and endeavor to walk consistenth^ with 
their profession, or else they might leave home, for he 
would have no h3q30crites about him.' So the}^ changed 
their dress, their general conduct being also changed, to 
the honor of Truth. 

''After resting some weeks, David felt a concern to visit 
another part of England, which he made known to the 
family as before, saying that he looked to some of them 
to accompan}^ him in this journey also. The father said, 
' Thou canst take the same children again.' David re- 
plied he w^as satisfied to do so, if they felt it their duty 
to go ; but they did not believe it right for them to go, at 
which their father greatly wondered, and could not com- 
prehend it. But David mentioning his concern from 
time to time, the father at length said, that if it could 
not be otherwise, he might take his younger children, 
and see whether he could make Quakers of them. David 
answered, '/ cannot, but with the Lord all things are 
possible.' So they being willing to go, they set out in 
the same carriage, and the Lord blessed the journey to 
the convincement of these children and many others ; so 
that they repaired three old meeting-houses, and estab- 



134 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

lishecl meetings to the honor of Truth. The children in 
this case, as the other two had done, furnished all the 
money, from their own private purses, for repairing the 
houses. 

'' On their return home they also informed their parents 
of the wonderful w^orks of God, and that they must 
change their dress and conduct, according to the convic- 
tion of Truth in their hearts. This brought a great con- 
cern upon their parents, so that they were broken in 
heart and became of a contrite spirit, and through sub- 
mission to the operation of the grace of God, became 
changed themselves, so as to be consistent members of 
the Society of Friends." 



A BRIEF GENEALOGY OF EDWAED FOULKE ; 

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS FAMILY, AND THEIR REMOVAL 
FROM GREAT BRITAIN TO PENNSYLVANIA. 

(Written by himself, originally in ancient British or Welsh.) 

^' I, Edward Fonlke, was the son of Foulke Thomas, 
the son of Evan, the son of Robert, the son of David 
Lloyd, the son of David, the son of Evan Yanghan,the 
son of Griffith, the son of Madock, the son of Jerworth, 
the son of Madock, the son of Ririd-Blaldd of the Poole, 
who was Lord of Penllyn, one of the northern divisions 
of Wales. 

^' My mother's name was Lowry, the danghter of 
Edward, the son of David, the son of Ellis, the son of 
Robert, of the Parish of Llanver, in Merionethshire. 

" I was born on the 13th day of the Fifth month, Anno 
Domini, 1651, and when arrived to mature age, I married 
Eleanor, the daughter of Hugh, the son of Cadwallader. 
the son of Rees, of the Parish of Spyter, in Derbyshire. 



EDWARD FOtJLKE. 135 

Her mother's name was Gwen, the daughter of Ellis, the 
son of William, the son of Hugh, the son of Thomas, 
the son of David, the son of Madock, the son of Evan, 
the son of Cott, the son of Evan, the son of Griffith, the 
son of Madock, the son of Enion, the son of Meredith, 
of Carvadock; and was born in the same parish and 
shire with her husband. 

^' I had, by my said wife, nine children, to wit, four 
sons and five daughters ; whose names were as foUoweth, 
viz., Thomas, Hugh, Cadwallader, and Evan; Gwen, 
Grace, Jane, Catharine, and Margaret. 

'' We lived at a place called Coodyfoel ; a farm belong- 
ing to Roger Price, Esq., of Rhewlass, in Merioneth- 
shire aforesaid. But in process of time, I had an inclin- 
ation to remove thence with my family, to the Province 
of Pennsylvania, and in order thereto, we set out on the 
3d day of Second month (April), Annoque Domini, 1698, 
and came in two days to Liverpool ; where, with divers 
others, who intended to go the voyage, we took shipping 
the lYth of the same month, on board the ' Robert and 
Elizabeth ;' and the next day set sail for Ireland, where 
we arrived and sta^^ed, until the 1st of the Third month 
(May), and thence again sailed for Pennsjdvania, and 
were about eleven weel^s at sea ; and the sore distemper 
of the bloody flux broke out in the vessel, of which died 
five and forty persons in our passage. The distemper 
was so mortal, that two or three corpses were cast over 
every day while it lasted. But through the favor and 
mercy of Divine Providence^ I, with my wife and nine 
children, escaped that sore mortality, and arrived safe 
at Philadelphia, about the ITth of Fifth month (Jul}^); 
where we were kindly received and entertained b}' our 
friends and old acquaintances, until I purchased a tract 
of about seven hundred acres of land, about sixteen 



136 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

miles from Philadelphia, on a part of which I settled. 
And divers others of our compan}^, who came over sea 
together, settled near me about the same time ; which 
was the beginning of ^N^ovember, 1698, aforesaid ; and 
the township was named Gw^medd, or North Wales. 

^' This account was written the 14th of Eleventh 
month (January), A. D. 1Y02, by 

'' Edward Foulke." 

This document enables many of his descendants at 
the present day to trace the names of their ancestors to 
twenty-one generations inclusive, and allowing three 
generations to a hundred years, the oldest named 
ancestor (Meredith) must have lived about the middle 
of the tw^elfth centurj^ ; and Kirid-Blaidd a little after. 
This reckoning corresponds nearly with the history of 
England, and with a large folio volume on Heraldry, in 
which the Lord Ririd-Blaidd's name is mentioned, and 
his coat of arms, being three wolves' heads torn from 
their bodies without the aid of a sword or weapon. 
This badge, it is believed, was attached to his character 
on account of some military exploit of valor he per- 
formed in that rude and barbarous age. 

There is a tradition concerning Edward and Eleanor 
Foulke, before their emigration to Pennsylvania, in 
substance as follows : Edward Foulke, with other sub- 
jects of the Prince of Wales, attended Fealty, as he 
was required by law to do, and learn certain military 
tactics. While one of his relations was engaged in 
fencing, and defending himself from a club in the hand 
of his antagonist, he had the cap of his knee struck off. 
While the wounded man was suffering exquisite agony, 
his antagonist was glorying in the victory, and their 
seconds parleying about the merits and demerits of the 



EDWARD FOULKE. 137 

contest. Edward Foulke's heart was grieved by their 
unfeeling indifference to the suffering of his relative ; 
and he was led to believe it was not the will or design 
of the just, wise, and munificent Creator, for one man 
(the Prince of Wales) to exercise such dominion over 
his fellow-men, as to require them to meet and perform 
such acts of cruelty towards each other ; and while he was 
calmly considering the matter, it occurred clearly to his 
understanding, that the Divine Will was, he should 
remove with his family, and settle in the Province of 
Pennsylvania. This was very unexpected, and the idea 
of parting with his friends and relatives in Wales, to 
settle in the wilderness of America, among Indians and 
wild beasts, was very far from his inclination ; but the 
more he pondered on it, the more serious the impression 
became. For -awhile he entertained a hope that it might 
pass away, but as the subject continued steadily before 
him, he at length opened it to his wife, in a serious and 
weighty manner. Unexpectedly to him, she regarded 
it as an intimation or revelation of the Divine Will to 
him for their good, and said to him, "" He that revealed 
this to thee, can bless a very little in America to us, 
and can blast a great deal in our native land," and 
cautioned him against reasoning it away. 

Being accounted an excellent singer, large companies 
were in the habit of collecting at his house on First days 
to hear him sing ; with this he became uneasy, finding 
the company of no advantage to him, nor he to them; 
as their time was spent in vain and trifling amusements ; 
on mentioning his uneasiness to his wife, he found she 
too had become very much dissatisfied with the practice, 
and also with some of the company. The}^ then con- 
cluded that a better way to spend the first day of the 
week, would be to read the Scriptures ; believing, too, 



138 GLEANINGS AT SE\*ENTY-FIVE. 

that the unprofitable part of the company would soon 
become weary and leave them, while their truest friends 
and best neighbors would adhere to them the more 
closely. This practice proved of great advantage, for 
when the company collected, and Edward sometimes 
indulged in merriment beyond the bounds of Christian 
gravity, his wife would sa}-, under a dee^D concern, '^ Put 
away, and get the Bible." This call he carefidly 
attended to, and it had the desired effect, for the most 
valuable company adhered to them, though the greater 
part deserted them. Their meeting and reading the 
Scriptures on the afternoon of the ilrst day of the week 
continued for some time, and their numbers increased. 
At length his wife reminded him that they were richly 
rewarded for their obedience to the Spirit that had 
shown him tlearly the iniquity of performing Fealty, and 
the yanitv and evil of sinsino: and idle amusements, and 
that it now remained for them to follow closely the 
leadings of the Divine Spirit to the Province of Penn- 
sylvania. They then conversed on the subject more 
freely with their friends, and some of their Meeting 
came over with them, as before related, being a part of 
the '* divers others *' he mentions in the foregoing 
account. Some had come before him, and others soon 
followed, so that the Township of Gwynedd (or Xorth 
Wales) was originally settled by those emigrants from 
Merionethshire in the Principality of Wales, called by 
the same name. 

The following account was left by Jesse Foulke (de- 
ceased), of Gwynedd (great-grandson of Edward) : 

" In the latter end of the year 1698, Gwynedd Town- 
ship was purchased of William Penn, by William Jones 
and Thomas Evans, and distributed among; the orio:inal 



EDWARD FOULKE. 139 

settlers, who were William Jones, Thomas Evans, Robert 
Evans, Owen Evans, Cadwallader Evans, Hugh Griffith, 
Edward Foulke, Robert Jones, John Hugh, and John 
Humphre}^ ; only the two last mentioned belonging to 
the Society of Friends, the others being church people. 
The said John Hugh and John Humphrey early began 
to hold religious meetings in one or other of their houses, 
on the first day of the week. The other inhabitants, 
belonging to the Church of England, used to hold a 
meeting at the house of Robert Evans ; and Cadwallader 
Evans was in the practice of taking his Bible with him 
to the meeting, and as they had no officiating minister, 
used to read a chapter or two in the Scriptures. 

" But (as he himself related) as he was going to his 
brother Robert's to the meeting as usual, when he came 
to the road leading down to the lower end of the town- 
ship, where John Hugh and John Humphrey held their 
meeting, it seemed as though a voice said to his spiritual 
ear, ^ Go down and see how the Quakers do ;' which cir- 
cumstance he mentioned at the close of their then meet- 
ing ; and they agreed, one and all, to go to the Quaker's 
meeting the next First day, and were so well satisfied 
with their mode and manner of worship, that they never 
met again in their usual form of church worship. Their 
meeting now increasing, they continued to hold it at the 
houses of John Hugh and John Humphrey, for some 
time ; but inthe year IT 06, they built a meeting-house near 
where the present one stands, and held meeting therein, 
by the consent of Haverford Monthly Meeting; unto 
which they at first joined themselves, but their numbers 
increasing, and their house being small, a new meeting- 
house was built in the year 1712, and on the 19th of 
Ninth month, the same year, the first meeting for worship 
was held therein. 



140 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

^' In the year 1714, it was considered that, as a great 
many settlers were coming in, and a young generation 
arising, and the Monthly Meeting so remote, that it was 
inconvenient to attend the same ; it was, therefore, agreed 
by Gwynedd and Plymouth jointly, to apply to Haverford 
Monthly Meeting for libertj^ to hold a Monthly Meeting 
among themselves, which, after a time of solid considera- 
tion, was moved to Philadelphia Quarterly Meeting, and 
approved of by that meeting ; and the first Monthly 
Meeting held at Gwynedd, on the 22d of the Twelfth 
month, 1714-15/' 

The house built in 1712 was taken down in 1823, and a 
new and enlarged one erected on and near the same 
l^lace. 

Jane Foulke, daughter of "William and Hannah Foulke 
(great-granddaughter of Edward), was married Twelfth 
month, 1757, to George Maris, of Gwynedd, grandfather 
of the present writer. He resided very near to the meet- 
ing-house, and they continued to occupy the same place, 
each living to old age. 

The following address of Edward Foulke was made to 
his children during his last illness, and, it is believed, 
but a very sh-ort time before his death : 

" My dear Children : There has been, for a consider- 
able time, something on my mind to say to you, by way 
of advice, before I return to dust, and resign my soul to 
Him who gave it, though I have found some difficulty in 
delivering my thoughts in writing. My first admonition 
to you is, that you fear the Lord, and depart from evil 
all the days of your life. Secondly, as brothers and 
sisters, I beseech you to love one another, and your 
neighbors too. If an^^ of 3^our neighbors injure you in 
word or deed, bear it with patience and humility. It is 



EBWARI) FOULKE. 141 

more pleasing in the sight of God, and of good men, to 
forgive injuries, than to revenge them. Rather pray for 
them than wish tliem any evil, lest that text in Scripture, 
'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,' come in 
your minds when you leave this world, and you be found 
wanting. Without doubt, he that is thoughtless and 
negligent all his days about the welfare of his soul, will 
some day or other, in the midst of his extremity, call 
on the rocks and mountains to cover him from the ven- 
geance of an offended God. 

'^ My dear children, accustom not yourselves to vain 
talking, which the Scriptures declare against. It has 
been hurtful to me in my youth, and stopped me in virtue. 
The temptations of this world are very powerful, as Job 
said, by experience. Be watchful over your evening 
conversation. Let pious thoughts possess your souls 
the moment before you close your eyes to sleep. And 
if you do that, it will be easier for you to find yourselves 
in the morning, in a meek, humble posture before God, 
who preserved you from evil, and will create peace and 
calmness of mind , with a blessing on your outward affairs ; 
as we read of Isaac, whose pious meditations in the field 
were rewarded with outward and inward blessings. 

''I desire you not to reject the least offer of good 
which may arise in your mind3, as if it was what could 
be obtained at pleasure. Give up in speed}^ obedience 
to God, who begot that divine emotion in your heart. 
For a man's continuance here is very doubtful. It often 
happens that death comes without warning, yet we must 
go, ready or not. Where the tree falls, there it must lie. 
I knew a man in the old country, who went to bed with 
his wife at night, and died before morning, unknown to 
her. Such things are designed, I believe, as a warning 
to us, that we may arm ourselves against the terrors of 



142 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

such a day. And of such as die after that manner, we 
have little to say, except that they died and were buried, 
leaving the rest among the mysteries of the Almighty. 
Hence let us view our own weakness, and judge one 
another with charity. 

'' My dear children, that you knew the sorrows I feel 
now in m}^ old age, for want of being more careful and 
circumspect in m}^ youth, although I did nothing that 
brought shame on myself, or grief on my parents. And 
yet there were among the loose, inconsiderate youth, too 
many things which they called innocent, without consid- 
ering all the while they were building on the sand. And 
I was often drawn into vain mirth with them. There is 
a vast difference between the sentences to be delivered 
to those who build on the rock, and those who build on 
the sand. Our Saviour said of the latter, their fall shall 
be great. 

'^ Let me entreat of you, my dear children, assume 
not the appearance of religion without a real possession 
of it in your hearts. Our dear Saviour compared such 
to a sepulchre, white without, but within full* of dead 
men's bones. Yet I have better hopes of you, though 
I mention this. 

'^ I have known, at times, something pressing on me 
to read good books, or to go aside in private to pray, 
which I neglected, taking my own liberty otherways. 
Then indifference and hardness would prevail, which 
deprived me of those good inclinations for a considerable 
time after. 

^' I have also to tell you of my own experience concern- 
ing attending week-day meetings. Whenever I suffered 
trifling occasions, or my outward affairs and business (if 
not verij urgent) to interrupt my going, a cool reflection 
and serious view made me look upon it as a loss, or an 



SDWARB FOULKE. 143 

injury done to the better part of myself; and generally 
the business done that day did not answer my expecta- 
tions of it in the morning. 

" One thing more comes into my mind, by searching 
myself; which is, it would have been better for me if I 
had been more careful in my sitting with my family at 
meals, with a sober countenance, because children and 
servants have their eyes and observations on those who 
haA^e the command and government of them. It has a 
mighty influence on the minds and manners of youth. 
So, my dear children, some of you may get some advan- 
tage from this. If you consider with attention this 
innocent simplicity of life and manners I have been 
speaking of, you need not fear but that God will protect 
you in safety from the snares of the devil, and the storms 
of this inconsiderate world. By diligence, also, you shall 
have victory over the deceitfulness of riches. I fear there 
are too many of this age who suffer themselves to be 
carried away with this torrent of corruption. And not 
only such as content themselves, as it were, in the outer 
porch, but also such as make greater pretences than those, 
even they who were looked upon as pillars in the work 
have, I fear, turned their backs upon it. I ky these things 
close to you, that 3"0u may be careful and diligent whilst 
you have time left, lest by degrees indifference drop upon 
you under the disguise of an easy mind, and you forget 
that it is onl}^ he who holds out to the end shall be saved. 

^'And as for your father and mother, our time has 
almost come to an end. We have lived together about 
fifty 3^ears ; and norr in our old age the Lord is as good 
and as gracious as ever He was. He gives us a comfort- 
able living now in the close of our days. We have a 
fresh occasion to acknowledge His benevolence and 
abounding goodness to us. 



144 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

^^ Now, I can with peace of mind, I think, conclude, 
with hopes for your prayers for us in the most needful 
time, especially on a dying pillow, and our time in this 
world com^ to an end, that we may have a gentle passage 
to eternal rest. 

^' Now I conclude in the words of the prophet Jere- 
miah, 31st chapter, 21st verse : 

'' ' Set thee up way-marks, make thee high heaps : set 
thy heart toward the highwaj^, even the way which 
thou wentest : turn again, virgin of Israel, turn again 
to these thy cities.' " 

JOSEPH LUKENS. 

Joseph Lukens was born in Horsham, near Philadel- 
phia, in the Ninth month, 1729. He possessed good 
natural abilities, and was of a sober life and conversa- 
tion. In the 22d year of his age he married Elizabeth 
Spencer, and in the increasing duties of the domestic 
circle, was a loving husband and a tender parent. In 
the 26th jesiV of his age he believed himself called to the 
ministry of the gospel, and his appearances in that line 
were acceptable to Friends. Careful to keep within his 
gift, for several years his public ministrations were not 
frequent. Yet, through dedication of heart, he witnessed 
an increase in love to the cause x)f Truth, and a growth 
in knowledge and experience. With the unity of his 
Friends he travelled on this continent, proving himself 
an able minister of the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
both at home and abroad, dividing the word aright m the 
assemblies of the people and in the families of Friends. 
He was often employed in visiting the sick, and being 
ever ready to assist and comfort his neighbors, he was 
much beloved. 



ELEANOR McCAHTY. 145 

On the 16th of Ninth month, It 84, he went to Phila- 
delphia to attend the Meeting for Sufferings, and it being 
the fifth day of the week, was at the High Street Meeting* 
Here he appeared in a lively and acceptable testimony. 
Towards the close of the meeting Sarah Harrison stood 
up and said, " There was one present who would not have 
the opportunity of again thus meeting with Friends. 
This made it necessary for such to improve the present, 
and prepare for a final change." She concluded by 
affectionately bidding the individual '' farewell in the 
Lord." This communication was delivered with great 
Golemnity, and Joseph felt in himself that he was the 
individual referred to. He attended the sitting of the 
Meeting for Sufferings, and that evening went out of the 
city on his way towards home. The next day, before 
he reached his residence, he was taken unwell. Full}^ 
satisfied of the truth of the intimation given him, he 
endeavored to prepare for his close. His sickness 
increasing, in a weighty solemn manner he took a last 
farewell of his wife and children, and passed away from 
this scene of conflict on the 2Tth of Ninth month, 1^84, 
aged 55 years. 



ELEANOR Mccarty. 

Eleanor McCarty, of Elklands, Pennsylvania, was a 
much-esteemed minister in the Society of Friends. In 
the early periods of her religious life she underwent 
great hardships and sacrifices. Living five or six miles 
from her religious meeting, she generally went on foot, 
frequently leading a little child and carrying another in 
her arms. On one of these occasions a heavy snow- 
storm overtook her, and her discouragements were so 
great that she thought it could not be required of her 



146 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

to make so great a sacrifice again ; but when the next 
meeting-da}^ came she again persevered, and in that 
meeting was her first appearance in the ministry ; and 
continuing faithful therein, she became a clear and con- 
vincing minister of the gospel. 

At one time a company of militia had been assembled 
by their captain, to muster on a ground some miles from 
her home, and feeling her mind strongly drawn to visit 
the place, and take an opportunity with the captain, she 
believed that if she was faithful, a friend and neighbor 
named Hogeland, would be willing to accompany her. 
Accordingly she dressed herself and walked towards the 
house of the friend, whom, to her great surprise, she 
found standing in her door with cloak and bonnet, wait- 
ing her arrival, though she was totally ignorant of her 
concern through any outward channels. This great 
confirmation increased her faith, and they reached the 
ground together. Eleanor had a powerful opportunity 
with the men. The captain laid down his arms, never 
more to resume them, and afterwards became a member 
of the Society of Friends. 

Eleanor McCarty deceased 20th of Fourth month, 
1844, in the 63d year of her age. 

THE VALUE OF PREMONITIONS. 

(From the ''Home Monthly.") 

One of our railroad engineers some years since was 
running an express train of ten well-filled cars. It was 
in the night, and a very dark night too. His train was 
behind time, and he was putting the engine to the utmost 
speed of which it was capable, in order to reach a certain 
point at the proper hour. He was running on a straight 
and level track, and at this unusual velocity, when a 



THI! VALtE OF I>R1]M0N1TI0NS. 147 

Conviction struck him that he must stop. ^'A something 
seemed to tell me," he said, ''that to go ahead was dan- 
gerous, and that I must stop if I would save my life. I 
looked back at m}^ train, and it was all right* I strained 
my eyes and peered into, the darkness, and could see no 
signal of danger or anything betokening danger, and 
there in the da^^time I could have seen five miles. I lis- 
tened to the working of my engine, tried the water, 
looked at the scales, and all was right. I tried to laugh 
myself out of what I then considered a childish fear ; . . . 
but it grew stronger in its hold upon me. I thought of 
the ridicule I would have heaped upon me if I did stop, 
but it was all of no avail. The conviction — for by this 
time it had ripened into a conviction — that I must stop, 
grew stronger, and I resolved to stop. I shut off, blew 
the whistle for brakes accordingly. I came to a dead 
halt, got off, and went ahead a little without saying any- 
thing to anybody what was the matter. I had a lamp 
in my hand, and had gone about sixty feet, when I saw 
what convinced me that premonitions are sometimes 
possible. I dropped the lantern from my nervous grasp, 
and sat down on the track utterly unable to stand." 

He goes on to tell us that there he found some one 
had drawn a spike which had long fastened a switch- 
rail, and opened a switch which had always been kept 
locked, and which led on to a track — only about one 
hundred and fifty feet long — which terminated in a 
stone-quarry. " Here it was, wide open, and had I not 
obeyed my premonitory warning — call it what 3^0 u 
will — I should have run into it, and at the end of the 
track, only about ten rods long, m}^ heavy engine and 
train, moving at the rate of forty-five miles an hour, 
would have come into collision with a solid wall of rock 
eighteen feet high ! The consequences, had I done so, 



148 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

can neither be imagined nor described, but they could 
b}^ no possibility have been otherwise than horribly 
fatal/' 

Xo one can here doubt the fact of a special interpo- 
sition of God, by which, from a calamity most terrific, 
hundreds of lives were wonderfully spared. 



ANECDOTE OF A MINISTER OF BERG. 

John George Roley, a minister of Berg, in Wurtem- 
burg, sent out his servant with a six-horse team to fetch 
grain. During the night, about the time when the team 
was expected to retui'n, he was suddenly seized by such 
a restlessness that he arose and went to meet his servant, 
notwithstanding his wife's repeated assurance that he 
need not apprehend any danger. He found his man 
asleep on horseback, and the team, owing to the bad 
road, so far turned aside, that it would, a few moments 
later, have reached a spot where all would inevitably 
have been precipitated into a deep abyss. 



A DREAM OF SARAH HARRISON'S. 

In her dream, she thought she was sitting in the par- 
lor, on a low chair, with a white apron on; when a tall 
person came into the room, went up to her, and threw 

somethino- heavy in her lap. She asked him what it 
was. He told her it was a soul in hell, but to touch it 
with her finger and she would find life in it ; she did so, 
and it moved over her lap. She was greatly agitated, 
when her husband awakened her, and inquired what 
ailed her. She said she could not tell him, but expected 
shortlv to be called to some awful scene. 



SA-RAR HARRISON. 149 

Whitehead Humphreys, an unbelieving character, was 
taken ill; his friends thought it his last sickness, and 
felt much anxiety on account of his situation, particu- 
larly his brother, who queried with him whether he would 
not like to see some friends ; but he seemed to be in- 
sensible to his situation, and declined seeing any, until 
within a few days of his death, when he consented to 
see Arthur Howell, but he had gone out of town ; the 
messenger then proceeded to Samuel Emlen's, w^ho was 
also from home. On his return he met with Sarah 
Harrison and William Savery, to whom he mentioned 
the situation of Whitehead, and requested them to go 
with him, which they accordingly did. Soon after their 
arrival, the other friends, who had been sent for, came, 
and they proceeded to his chamber, where they found 
him in a very unsettled and restless state, and full of 
conversation. After sitting with him awhile, Samuel 
said, '' Whitehead ! Whitehead ! there is no time to be 
idle ; thou art in an awful state ! " He then lay still for 
some time, and dear Sarah Harrison, who was under an 
awful concern, w^as drawn forth to supplicate for him; 
after which he seemed more composed. On the friends 
leaving the room, Sarah Harrison told Whitehead's 
sister-in-law of the foregoing dream, and the awful im- 
pression that, from the tin^e of her dream, and when 
she first sat down in his chamber, had attended her 
mind ; but her feelings had become more comfortable, 
and she thought it might be truly said, "he was called 
at the eleventh hour." 

He said to the friends these emphatic words : " Tell 
it at the corners of the streets, proclaim it in the assem- 
blies of the people, that I have been endeavorinp- to 
believe a lie." 



150 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 

JOSEPH HEMPHILL AND A MEMBER OF THE 
SOCIETY OF FRIENDS. 

A member of the Society of Friends, who resided in 
a village not far from Philadelphia, during a consider- 
able portion of the meridian of his life, evinced little 
disposition to conform to the testimonies and principles 
of his profession. Among other things, he was very 
negligent in the attendance of religious meetings, and 
on one occasion refused to withdraw a few minutes from 
his worldly business to sit with his family during the 
time of a religious visit paid them by two ministering 
Friends. His son, having been favored with a powerful 
visitation of Divine loA^e, yielded in measure thereto, and 
became diligent in going to meetings, walking to the 
one they belonged to, though at the distance of several 
miles. One day, Joseph Hemphill, a distinguished 
lawyer of Philadelphia, afterward a judge and member 
of Congress, came into the store, and not seeing the 
young man, inquired of the father where he was. ^' Gone 
to meeting," said the father, with a sneer. '' Gone to 
meeting!" replied Joseph. ''The more to his credit; 
for he gets no help from his father, mother, or sister! 
I tell you what, if I was in your place, if I could not 
live up to the principles I professed, I would request to 
be released from membership." 

This unexpected rebuke had a powerful effect on the 
man to whom it was addressed. He said he had never 
had such a sermon preached to him. He could not get 
from under the weight of it, and soon found himself 
most eas}^ to be diligent in his religious duties. At the 
time of his death he was a prominent member of the 
meeting he belonged to, and was thought to have become 
a humble-ininded Christian, 



WILLIAM GIFFORD. 151 , 



• ANECDOTE. WILLIAM GIFFORD. 

On a certain time (the date is uncertain, probably 
between 1835 and 1839), ''Nantucket harbor was frozen 
over nearly all winter. All the coal in store had been 
burned, and there was much suffering for want of fuel. 
Even the fences had been torn down and burned to eke 
out the scanty supply of wood. To the great delight 
of the townspeople, the ice broke up one fine morning, 
and a schooner with coal was seen approaching. There 
was much excitement, and before the craft was moored 
a coal-dealer boarded her, and eagerly addressed the 
honest Quaker skipper, Captain Gifford. ' Wall, cap'en,' 
said he, ' you've about hit it this cruise ; I guess I'll 
hev to take y'ur hull cargo. Spose you'll want more 'en 
the usual seven dollars a ton. Wall, I like to do 
the square thing by a friend, and I'll give you twelve 
dollars a ton for it.' ' Friend,' said Captain Gifford, 
' thee can have a ton of my coal, if thee likes, for eight 
dollars, but only one ton ; all may have a chance.' Just 
then one of the richest men in the place joined them, 
saying : ' I want ten tons of your coal at your own 
price ; name it. I have suffered enough for once. ' He 
received the same answer, and so did all — one ton for 
each family, and eight dollars the price for each ton. 
No love of gain, no solicitation, no regard for indi- 
viduals, could move honest Captain Gifford. Who 
would do thus now ? " 

A Friend residing on Nantucket was queried with, re- 
specting the authenticity of the foregoing; he answered : 
" I knew William Gifford well, think lie was owner as 
well as captain of the vessel, and well remember the 



152 GLEAMNGS AT SEVENTY FIVE. 

circumstance. I heard him say at the time nearly these 
words, ' Now I have got to act conscience.' He was a 
man of good and quick natural parts, resided in West 
Falmouth, and sailed from here (Nantucket) mostly up 
the Hudson River. In the spring of 1811 there was no 
coal to be bought on the island, and in that of 1812 no 
cord-wood. I have known it to be so that there was no 
corn to be bought. (I speak of the dealers in these 
commodities.) There is a spirit of accommodation in 
the inhabitants, which leads to a willingness to lend ; 
and actual suffering, I think, would lead to prompt 
attention." 

A PRESENTIMENT. 

The Scr anion (Penna.) Eepuhlican tells the following 
sad story of one of the victims of the late Pittston, 
Penna., coal mine disaster : 

^' William James expired about 3 o'clock on the after- 
noon of the Tuesday following the catastrophe, and was 
the last added to the list of those upon whom the death 
angel laid his hand in that awful havoc. He was a 
Welshman, and had been in this country about seven 
months. On the morning of the dreadful day in ques- 
tion he had taken his breakfast, and his wife had made 
ready his dinner, and set the pail beside him. For some 
time he sat wrapped in thought, his arms folded, his 
eyes fixed vacantly upon the stove, and a deep melan- 
choly apparently brooding over him. He was aroused 
from his reverie by his wife telling him that his dinner 
was ready, and that he would be late, as the bell had 
rung. He started to his feet, and gazing upon her for 
a moment with a look full of tenderness and significance, 
said to her, ' If I should not come back alive, would you 



SHREWDNESS. 153 

be in such a hurry getting me out ? ' The wife answered 
' No,' but remarked that if he was going at all it was 
time he was gone. He lifted his pail without saying a 
word, and after kissing his wife, kissed his four little 
children, who were sitting playing on the doorstep. 
When he had got about fifty yards from his home, he 
returned again, and kissed his wife and children once 
more with great fervency. 

^' His wife noticed that he was the victim of gloomy 
forebodings, and as he turned away, she was about to 
entreat him not to go to work if he apprehended any 
danger. But hope and courage and the necessities of 
their family, overcame her intention and she let him go. 
She stood in the door and watched him on his way to the 
fatal pit. When at a point where he turned out of her 
sight, he paused and cast a wistful look back towards his 
home and little ones, and seeing his wife, waved with his 
hand a last adieu. He parted with his loved ones for- 



SHREWDNESS. 

" He that delivered [it] unto thee hath the greater sin." 

'^ I am glad," said Dr. Y s to the Chief of the Lit- 
tle Ottawas, " that you do not drink whisky. But it 
grieves me to find that your people use so much of it.'' 
"Ah, yes," replied the Indian, and he fixed an arch and 
impressive eye upon the Doctor, which communicated 
the reproof before he uttered it, " We Indians use a 
great deal of whisky, but we do not make it." 



154 GLEANINGS AT SEVENTY-FIVE. 



SENSIBILITY OF AN INDIAN. 

In a certain town of Maine was once exhibited a strik- 
ing display of Indian character. One of the Kennebec 
tribe, remarkable for his orderly demeanor, received from 
the State a grant of land and settled himself in a new 
township, where several white families had previously 
settled. Although not ill-treated , the common prej udice 
against Indians prevented an}^ sympathy with him. This 
was made manifest on the death of his only child, when 
none of his neighbors went near him to join in the obse- 
quies of burial. 

Shortly after, he called on some of the inhabitants. 
" When white man's child die," said he, '' Indian man be 
sorry ; he help bury him. "When my child die, no one 
speak to me ; I make his grave alone ; I can no live 
here." He gave up his farm, dug up the body of his 
child ^ and carried it with him two hundred miles, through 
the forest, to join the Canadian Indians. 



POETICAL PIECES, 



THE GLEANER. 



THE PAINTER OF SEVILLE. 

'TwAS morning in Seville, and brightly beamed 
The early sunlight in one chamber there, 

Showing, where'er its glowing radiance gleamed, 
Rich, varied beauty. 'Twas the study where 

Murillo, the famed painter, came to share 
With young aspirants his long-cherished art. 

To prove how vain must be the teacher's care 
Who strives his unbought knowledge to impart, 
The language of the soul, the feelings of the heart I 

The pupils came and glancing round, 

Mendez upon his canvas found. 

Not his own work of yesterday, 

But, glowing in the morning ray, 
A sketch so rich, so pure, so bright. 

It almost seemed that there weve given, 
To glow before his dazzled sight. 

Tints and (^xpresi^iou warm from heaven. 



156 POETICAL PIECES, 

'Twas but a sketch — the Yirgin's head — 
Yet was unearthly beauty shed 
Upon the mildly beaming face ; 

The lip, the eye^ the flowing hair, 
Had separate, yet blended grace ; 

A poet's brightest dream was there I 



Murillo entered, and, amazed. 

On the m^^sterious painting gazed ; 

'' Whose work is this ? speak, tell me ! he 

Who to his aid such power can call," 
Exclaimed the teacher eagerly, 

'' Will yet be master of us all. 
Would I had done it ! Ferdinand ! 
Isturitz I Mendez ! say whose hand 
Among ye all ? " With half-breathed sigh, 
Each pupil answered, '' 'Twas not I ! " 



^' How came it then ? " impatiently 
Murillo cried ; ^^ but we shall see 
Ere long into this mystery. 
Sebastian ! " 

At the summons came 

A bright-eyed slave. 
Who trembled at the stern rebuke 

His master gave ; 
For, ordered in that room to sleep, 
And faithful guard o'er all to keep, 
Murillo bade him now declare 
What rash intruder had been there ; 
And threatened, if he did not tell 
Tb^ truth at once, the dungeon cell. 



BY THE GLEANEK. 157 

" Thou answerest not ! " Murillo said — 
(The boy had stood in speechless fear) ; 

" Speak, or — " At last he raised his head, 
And murmured, '^ No one has been here." 

'^ 'Tis false I " — Sebastian bent his knee. 

And clasped his hands imploringly, 

And said, '' I swear it ! none but me I '^ 

'' List," said his master, '^ I would know 
Who enters here, — there have been found 
Before, rough sketches strewn around, 

By whose bold hand, 'tis yours to show ; 

See that to-night strict watch you keep, 

Nor dare to close your e^^es in sleep ; 

If on to-morrow morn you fail 
To answer what I ask, 

The lash shall force you, — do you hear? 
Hence I to your daily task." 



'Twas midnight in Seville. And faintly shone 

From one small lamp, a dim uncertain ray 
Within Murillo 's study : all were gone, 

Who there, in pleasant tasks, or converse gay. 
Passed cheerfully the morning hours away. 

'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless silence, save, 
That to sad thoughts and torturing fear a prey, 

One bright-eyed boy was there, Murillo 's little slave. 

Almost a child, that boy had seen 

Not thrice five summers yet ; 
But genius marked the lofty brow, 

O'er which his locks of jet 



158 POETICAL PIECES, 

Profusely curled ; his cheeks' dark hue 
Proclaimed the warm blood flowing through 
Each throbbing vein, a mingled tide, 
To Africa and Spain allied. 

^'Alas ! what fate is mine ? " he said, 

" The lash, if I refuse to tell 
Who sketched those figures ; if I do, 

Perhaps e'en more, the dungeon cell ! " 
He breathed a prayer to Heaven for aid. 
It came ! for soon in slumber laid, 
He slept until the dawning day 
Shed on his humble couch its ray. 

'' I'll sleep no more," he cried, '^ and now 
Three hours of freedom I may gain 

Before my master comes, for then 
I shall be but a slave again. 

Three blessed hours of freedom ! how 
Shall I employ them? — Ah ! e'en now 

The figure on that canvas traced, 

Must be, yes, it must be eflTaced." 

He seized a brush, — the morning light 
Gave to the head a softened glow ; 

Gazing enraptured on the sight. 
He cried, '^ Shall I eflface it ? No I 

That breathing lip 1 that beaming eyel 

Efiace them ? I would rather die ! " 

The terror of the hlimble slave, 

Gave place to the o'erpowering flow 

Of the high feelings Nature gave. 
Which only gifted spirits know ; 



BY THE GLEANER. 159 

He touched the brow, the lip ; it seemed 

His pencil had some magic power ; 
The eye with deeper feeling beamed ; 

Sebastian had forgot the hour ! 
Forgot his master, and the threat 

Of punishment still hanging o'er him ; 
For with each touch new beauties met, 

And mingled in the face before him. 

At length 'twas finished. Rapturously 
He gazed ; could aught more beauteous be ? 
Awhile absorbed, entranced he stood, 
Then started ; horror chilled his blood J 
His master, and the pupils all 

Were there, e'en at his side ! 
The terror-stricken slave was mute ; 

Mercy would be denied. 
E'en could he ask it ; so he deemed. 
And the poor boy half lifeless seemed. 

Speechless, bewildered, for a space 
They gazed upon that perfect face, 

Each with an artist's joy ; 
At length Murillo silence broke, 
And with affected sternness spoke : 

*' Who is your master, boy?" 
*' You, seiior!" said the trembling slave. 
^' Nay, who, I mean, instruction gave 
Before that Virgin's head you drew ?" 
Again he answered : "" Only, you." 
" I gave you none I" Murillo cried. 
^' But I have heard," the boy replied, 

" What you to others said." 
" And more than heard," in kinder tone, 
The painter said, '' 'tis plainly shown 

That you have profited," 



160 POETICAL PIECES, 

*' What (to his pupils) is his meed ? '' 

Reward or punishment ?" 
" Reward, reward !" they warmly cried. 

(Sebastian's ear was bent 
To catch the sounds he scarce believed, 
But with imploring look received.) 
^' What shall it be ? " They spoke of gold, 

And of a splendid dress, 
But still unmoved Sebastian stood, 

Silent and motionless. 

*' Speak 1" said Murillo kindly, '' choose 

Your own reward ; what shall it be ? 
N^ame what you wish, I'll not refuse ; 

Then speak at once, and fearlessly." 
'' Oh ! if I dared !" Sebastian knelt, 

And feelings he could not control 
(But feared to utter even then). 

With strong emotion shook his soul. 

*' Courage!" his master said, and each 
Essa3^ed, in kind, half-whispered speech. 
To soothe his overpowering dread. 
He scarcely heard, till some one said, 
*' Sebastian, ask, jon have your choice, 

Ask for your freedom,''^ At the word 
The suppliant strove to raise his voice ; 

At first but stifled sobs were heard, 
And then his prayer, breathed fervently, 
''Oh! master J make my father /Vee/" 

" Him and thyself} my noble boy I " 

Warmly the painter cried ; 
Raising Sebastian from his feet, 

He pressed him to his side ; 



BY THE GLEANER. 161 

'^ Thy talents rare, and filial love, 

E 'en more have fairly won ; 
Still be thou mine by other bonds, 

My pupil and my son 1 '' 

Murillo knew, e'en when the words 

Of generous feeling passed his lips, 
Sebastian's talents soon must lead 

To fame, that would his own eclipse. 
And constant to his purpose still, 
He joyed to see his pupil gain, 
Beneath his care, such matchless skill, 

As made his name the pride of Spain. 
1838. 
Note.— Sebastian Gomez, better known as the Mulatto of 
Murillo, was one of the most celebrated painters of Spain. There 
may yet be seen exhibited in Seville, the picture he was found 
painting hy his master, with a number of others. The incident 
related above occurred about the year 1630. 

THE DEATH-BED OF A SLAVE-TAKER. 

The kidnapper felt the awful power 

Of o'erwbelming remorse in his dying hour. 

Of agony, spurning the stern control 

That had nerved his feelings, and stained his soul 

With secret crimes ; but his conscience wrung 

Their confession, then, from his faltering tongue. 

His victims were countless;* of one he spoke 
Who had fled from a southern tyrant's yoke, 
And a home (with his wife and children) found, 
Where freedom and plenty smiled around. 

* Though a slave-taker may know how many human beings he 
has actually sold into bondage, the wretched lives and broken 
hearts caused by such sales cannot he numbered. 



162 POETICAL PIECES, 

" I lost," the awakened sinner said, 

As he writhed in anguish, '' the path that led 

To the ri Acer's bank ; all was dark aronnd, 

When that dwelling of love and peace I found, 

round welcome from all in the home of that slave ; 

They gave me food, and their bed they gave, 

Their only bed ; and he led next day 

My steps for miles, on my forward wa}^ ; 

Nor would take the reward I offered then ; 

We parted : Oh ! had we ne'er met again ! 

Months passed away ; then I learned that he 
Who so kindly had sheltered and guided me. 
Might be torn from his peaceful home, and sold 
To increase my store of blood-stained gold. 
I hastened once more to his happ}^ retreat, 
And welcome, most kind and sincere, did I meet I 

How was it requited ? I acted the part 
Of a grateful friend, with a villain's art ; 
And too easily they my tale believed, 
When I said, that, for kindness there received, 
M}^ gratitude prompted me now to come, 
And offer them all a more pleasant home ; 
That his labor there should be well repaid ; 
And they trusted each specious promise made. 

To visit that future home, his consent 
Was gained, and a social evening spent : 
How gratefull}^ happy was each warm heart ! 
How cheerfully did he, next morning, depart ! 

We soon reached a river — 'twas deep and wide, 
But the ice seemed firm from side to side ; 



BY THE GLEANER. 163 

It bore us a while, as the way I led, 
Then trembled and parted beneath my tread. 
All powerless I sank ; that generous slave 
Risked his own, my guilty life to save, 
Then carried me senseless to the shore. 
Which, unaided by him, I had reached no more ; 
He rescued me ! shall I conclude the tale ?" 
The speaker's lip turned more deathly pale. 
" Oh, my husband ! " exclaimed his weeping wife, 
^' You could not sell him who preserved your life I " 
^^ I could ! I did ! ere the close of that day. 
My deliverer was borne in chains away ; 
I assisted, with strength I owed to him, 
To rivet those chains on each quivering limb. 
Not a single word the poor victim spoke. 
But one glance he gave me I that withering look I 
It haunts me still in the broad daylight. 
It comes with the deepest shades of night. 
Oh, now 'tis before me ! I see him there, 
With that look of agony and despair 
Which has followed me since that fatal day : 
He is come to torment me ! Oh ! take him away 1 " 
^' Awa}^" he repeated with failing breath, 
And the kidnapper's eyes were closed in death. 
1837. 



FRAGMENTS. 

"Weep not for those whose race is run — 

Whose prize is gained, whose toil is past ; 
To them the power of grief is done, 
And misery's storm has frowned its last 1 



164 POETICAL PIECES, 

*'But weep for those who yet remain, 
The feverish weight of life sustaining, 
The frown of scorn, the sting of pain, 
And secret anguish uncomplaining." 

T. F. H. 



CoLt>, cold the snow-wreath lies above 
The form, that, warmed by life and love, 

For many a year was by my side, — 
And, turning from the vacant chair, 
The pillow, cold and smooth and bare, 
I feel that there is none to share 

With me, whatever may betide. 

Yet there are those that love me — ^thou. 
Sister ! my only sister now. 

Faithful, affectionate, and kind, 
And dear — in sorrow doubly dear. 
With heart and hand my path would cheer ; 
But still her place is vacant here, 

A changeless blank I ever find. 

Yes, there are those who love me,— who 
Through clouds and sunshine have been true. 

And well I know and prize their worth ; 
And those who now, in sorrow tried, 
Cling the more closely to my side, — 
Alas ! in hearts to mine allied. 

Are ties too strong that bind to earth. 



That grave is green, — oh, can it be. 
Sister I since it was made for thee. 
Almost a year has passed away ? — 



BY THE GLEANER. 165 

It seems a wintry day and night, 
Of darkening clouds and fitful light, 
With flowers frost-stricken when most bright,^ — 
Thy last hour seems but yesterday I 

Still, still I hear the gentle tone 
Prom thy heart speaking to my own. 

Oh ! that to me there may be given 
Like thine, a spirit purified 
(E'en though by sufifering deeply tried), 
Following the one unerring Guide, 

Who led thee, blessed one! to Heaven. 



IVe stood beside another grave, 

O'er which the grass and wild flowers wave 

(In their fifth summer blossoming); 
My young and lovely cousin, — thou. 
With thy bright smile, but pensive brow, 
Art brought before me e\en now, 

By memory's faithful picturing. 

Beloved one 1 I did not see 

Thy suffering, but I wept for thee, 

Mourned for the sorrdw in thy home : — 
Yet ever comes the soothing thought, 
^^ To hearts like thine, by feeling taught, 
This world must be with sorrow frauglit ;" 

Thou art where sorrow cannot come I 

By thine another grave was made-; 
I stood beside it, while they laid 

Within its confines one beloved. 
And bound to us by kindred's tie. 



166 



But dearer for the sympathy, 
The kindness and sincerity, 

So highly prized, so often proved. 

She, too, is gone, and with her gone 
A light that on my pathway shone, 

Even from early childhood's day, 
But calml}", usefully, she passed 
Through a long life, and at the last, 
No cloud was o'er the future cast. 

To dim Hope's spirit-cheering ray. 



The grave — the grave ! — (earth's trials past). 
In it our forms shall rest at last, 

It may be soon, and suddenly, 
But never by the happiest 
(However long, however blessed 
Their path through life), was e'er possessed 

Aught earthly but must change or die. 

Yet there's a '^ pearl " of priceless worth. 
That may be gained while jet on earth ; 

My precious sister ! it was thine. 
This world was once too bright to me, 
I view it now too gloomily ; 
Oh that to bea?^ unmurmuringly. 
With humbled spirit trusting Thee, 

Blessed Redeemer 1 may be mine ! 
1844, 



BY THE GLEANEE. 167 

LINES 

WRITTEN IN THE CHAMBER OF AN INVALID, AGED 79. 

It is her birthdaj^ ; and she wanders back, , 

In memory, and in fitful slumbers, — back 

To days of early youth, and love, and joy : 

She sees, through that long vista, one green spot, 

The home of wedded love, that for brief space 

Was hers,— but fiA^e short 3^ears, and since that time, 

More than twice twenty she has seen p,ass by. 

But still, she says, she often thinks of him^ 
Youthful and beautiful, who died so young ; 
Thinks of him daily now, — and then she tells 
How kind he ever was, through every change ; 
Tells his last words to her, and to their child. 
And how in his cold hands he held her own, 
Until they led her from his lifeless corse. 

Oh, blessed is such memory! — to us 
It is not given to know the day or hour. 
In which our lips, or those we love, shall be 
Forever closed in death. An unkind word 
Spoken to one beloved, may be the last 
Heard by that one from us. Should it be so, 
Memory, to us, may prove a scorpion, 
With never dying sting. 



1841. 



168 



HUMILITY. 

*' So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot and stood at the door 
of the house of Elisha. And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go 
and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again unto thee, sULd 
thou Shalt be clean."-— II Kings 6 : 9, 10, 

The Syrian, though he travelled far, 

Relief from suffering to ask, 
Scorned the great prophet's mild command, 

And proudly spurned the easy task ; 
He deemed that in all Israel's land 

No waters could be found, that ever 
Had worth like those he left behind, — 

Pharpar's bright stream, Abana's river. 

And thus it is, we feel the need 

Of a physician to the soul, 
And, Naaman-like, we ask of Heaven 

What shall be done to make us whole ; 
But — told what seems a little chain. 

Formed by long habit, must be broken, — 
We slight the warning voice, and ask 

A greater thing, a stronger token. 

Oh ! let us humbly turn, and prize 

The ^' still small voice," the least command 
Given to correct our erring course, 

And guide it to a better land. 
If called to act the humblest part, 

Obedience will secure a blessing. 
Though what we ask may be denied. 

Ours will be all that's worth possessing, 
1639, 



BY THE GLEANER, 169 

LINES 

SUGGESTED- BY THE REMARK, '^ THERE IS NO SAFETY BUT IN 



Wanderer, through the bright, bewildering 

Maze of worldly pleasure, see 
What bright flowers (their thorns are hidden) 

Bloom spontaneously for thee. 
How serene the sky above thee ! — 

In such scene can danger be ? 

Yes ! a sword is hanging o'er thee, 
There are hidden pits around, — 

But a narrow path before thee, 
Leading (o'er unshaken ground) 

To thy ^^ Father's house," where only 
Rest and safety may be found. 

Rest on '' perfect love " and mercy, 

Yet no hour exempt from care. 
For thy place will be the watch-tower, — 

Watchfulness and ceaseless prayer, 
With thy Saviour's grace to aid thee, 

Must make sure thy refuge there. 

Thou 1 from a long dream, awaking 

To the truth, that naught below 
(Howe'er bright its early promise), 

E'er can happiness bestow ; 
Though the stream of desolation 

Over M most cherished flow j 



170 POETICAL PIECES, 

Though thy chosen props are failing 
To support thee, — though the ground 

From beneath th}' feet is sliding, — 
Safety may e'en yet be found ; 

Seek thy '^ Father's house," where only 
Is a balm for eyery wound. 

Gracious Sayiour! bowed before Thee, 
There are hearts, well taught to know 

Here they must " haye tribulatior " 
But too weak, too frail to go 

To their "" Father's house/' — Thou only 
*' Strength in weakness " canst bestow. 

Wilt Thou, howe'er deep and bitter 
Must their cup of suffering be, 

Teach them proofs of loye and mercy 
In Thy chastening to see, 

Teach to tread their path unmurmuring, — 

Grant it lead at last to Thee ! 
1845. 

THE FUGITIVES FROM INJUSTICE IX BOSTON. 

They came through perils, only known 
To those, who, guided by the ray 

Of one bright star, to lantis unknown, 

Find unimagined dangers thrown 

Around their paths ; and day by day, 
Start, as they seem to here the bay 

Of bloodhounds following their track. 
Urged on by men more lierce than they, 

And listen for the murderous shot, — 

But death, e'en such a death, is not 
Feared, as they fear the coming day 

May see them borne to bondage back. 



BY THE GLEANER. 171 

Such dangers and such fears were passed ; 
They stood amid kind friends at last. 
Nor only friends, — for there was one, 
A woman, who long since had thrown 
Her fetters off — and dreamed no more, 
Of meeting those she loved before . 
But she had found the one most dear, 

Her mother to her arms was given ! 
And warmly, almost wildly, she 

Poured forth her soul-felt thanks to Heaven. 

There were four others, — men, still young. 

Whose spirits, past endurance stung 

By countless, nameless wrongs,- — at length 

Trusted that He, who gave a star 
To guide their way, would give them strength 

To gain a home, and freedom, far 
Beyond the reach of their control. 
Who fetter body, heart, and soul. 

Then hundreds gathered round, to hear 
The tale of trials each could tell, — 

And one spoke of a wife and child 
In bondage with him, loved so well, 

He risked his life, and theirs, to gain 

Freedom from the too-galling chain. 

And gratefully of one he told. 

Who promised, in a vessel's hold 

To carry them concealed away ; 
His wife and child in safety there 
He placed, and hastened to prepare 

For joining them another day, 



172 POETICAL PIECES. 

But when again he reached the shore, 
The ship he sought was seen no more, 

'Twas sailing far away ! 
And he — he would not pause to tell 
Of grief, and fear, and doubt that fell 
Upon his heart, — nor how their spell 
He broke, with courage naught could quell, 

For he had caught a ray 
Of hope • with speechless rapture fraught, 
Had heard the wife, the child he sought. 
Were in Toronto safe, — and he 
With them, please Heaven, ere long would be 

That mother, then, and daughter told 
Their tales, — nor could restrain 

Their fervent gratitude and joy, 
That they had met again ; 

Had met amid the kind, the free. 

And, more than all, at liberty. 

An old man rose ; his crown was bald. 

But locks, by time and sorrow bleached, 
In snow-white curls, on either side, 

Down even to his shoulders reached. 
He too had been a slave, and long 
Had borne unmurmuringly the wrong. 
The lengthened task, the wanton blow, 
And much that only slaves can know ; 
But e'en in his degraded lot 
He found one bright, one happy spot. 
Found flowers upon his pathway strewn, — 
A wife and children were his own, 



BY THE GLEANER. 173 

His own! Alas ! how vain the trust, 

Which the confiding slave reposes 
On those who trample in the dust 
The laws of kindred and of love, 
Of men on earth, and Heaven above, — 

How vain such trust, each day discloses I 

Of change, of poignant grief he told 
They sold his wife, one child they sold. 

And left him only one ; 
And oh, how closely did his heart 
(With all beside thus forced to part^ 

Cling around that much-loved son 1 
He was a gentle, noble bo}^ ; 
And soon with deep, but fearful joy, 
His father marked his spirit high. 
And stronger, stronger grew the tie 

Which their lone spirits bound. 
It softened e'en the deep regret 
For those they never could forget, 
And in their saddened lot were yet 

Bright gleams of pleasure found. 

Pleasure, that soon was swept away, 
For, from his arms the bo}^ they tore •, 

He too was sold, and on that day 
Enjoyment, even hope was o'er; 

There was not left a single ray 

To light the gloom of bondage more. 

And then he vowed to break his chain, 
Or, should the attempt be made in vain, 
Even the threatened death would be 
Preferred to life in slavery. 



174 POETICAL PIECES 



The first attempt did fail, and all 

They'd threatened was endured, save death. 
The bloody lash just ceased to fall, 

In time to spare the failing breath. 
But added tortures moved him never 

From his firm purpose, and when strength 
Returned, he strove again to sever 

His soul-felt fetters ; and at length 
Toil, danger, fear were past, and he 
Stood thankfully among the free. 

" Since then," he added, ^' many a year 

Has past. I could not happy be, 
For memory dwelt on those so dear. 

Forever, ever lost to me. 
Yet I have been resigned and calm, 

No worldly hopes or fears came o'er me ; 
For grief like mine earth has no balm, 

And light from Heaven was beaming o'er me. 
But feelings that I fancied slept 

Forever, have awakened. I, 
With spirit deeply moved, have wept 

In thankfulness and sympathy 
With those this day has reunited. 

But while I share their grateful joy, • 
I think how all my hopes were blighted, 

When parted from my noble boy. 
M}^ bo}^ ! oh, could I meet him now, 

But place my hand upon his brow 
And say; ^ Dear John, 3-ou're mine,' and know 

Ko tyrant's will could bid us part, 
What perfect happiness would flow 

Upon my desolated heart ! " 



BY THE GLEANER. 175 

The old man ceased ; but ere was past 
The echo of the words he'd spoken, 

The breathless silence gathering there, 

By words that thrilled each heart, was broken : 

^''Father! my father! " — It was he, 

So loved, so mourned, — his long-lost son, 

Who rushed into his arms ; among 

Those welcome strangers he was one. 
1842. 

LIKES 

WRITTEN AT TUNESSASSAH, CATTARAUGUS COUNTY, NEW YORK. 

My home I my loved, my beautiful, my Pennsylvania 

home 1 
Well, well will it remembered be, wherever I may roam; 
Though the votaries of fashion and wealth may turn away 
From Nature's quiet loveliness, in search of scenes more 

gay, 

Not all that wealth or fashion to their favorites can 

impart. 
Could fill the place that spot has held, will hold within 

my heart ; 
And mingling with the thoughts of it, sweet cherished 

memories come. 
For it was — (four short j^ears ago) — 'twas " wedded 

love's first home." 

Where now we dwell are wild, wild woods, and rushing 

streams around. 
And many a structure, rough and rude, sheltering strange 

inmates found. 
Brightly at evening glows our fire, but never does its light 
Reveal familiar face of friend or kindred to our sight ; 
We know all such, where'er they be, are very far away ; — 
Of some we tliink when comes, what is, for them a 

'* meeting day^^^ 



176 POETICAL PIECES, 

In many a well-remembered spot, where oft we sat of 

yore ;— 
Now we sit in our solitary home, by Alleghany's shore; 
But we know who promised long ago, that where but 

" two or three " 
Were met together in His name, He in their midst 

would be ; 
And though well taught that, of ourselves, we are but 

poor and frail. 
His grace can give e'en us to know His promise doth not 

fail. 

Here once, a well-remembered eve, were contrite spirits 

blended. 
And by our hearthstone then, the voice of praise and 

praj^er ascended ; 
" The prayer of faith," — '^ the fervent prayer," — may 

such petitions be 
Offered before the throne of grace, not unavailingly ! 



Though shadows be (as they must be) across our path- 
way thrown. 

That Powder who bade us hither, from our own loved 
dwelling come. 

Sheds spirit-cheering light upon our solitary home. 
First month, 1850. 

A FRAGMENT. 

** FAITH LIES AT ANCHOR IN THE MIDST OF THE WAVES." 

Oh I for such faith, when round me 

The waves are rolling high ; — 
Though their white foam surround me, 

To keep a steadfast eye 



BY THE GLEANER. 177 

Where I know, e'en then is shining, 

A star forever bright, 
Though waves and clouds combining, 

Conceal it from my sight. 



TUNESSASSAH, 1850. 



RETRIBUTION. 

[The circumstance related below, rests on the authority of a 
Clergyman in the North of England. ] 

"If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that 
are ready to be slain ; if thou st^yest, Behold, we knew it not ; doth not he 
that pondereth the heart consider it? and he that keepeth thy soul, doth not 
he know it? and shall he not render to every man according to his works? "— 
Proverbs 24 : 11, 12. 

A DEEP but narrow stream rolled darkly by, 

Showing no danger to a stranger's eye, 

But to its bosom mountain streams had poured, 

And swollen to fearful height the usual ford ; 

This to a dweller near the bank was known, 

Who marked the current from his hillside home, 

And saw a traveller on the farther side. 

Approach incautiously the deepened tide. 

How could he warn him? for his eye, intent 

To find the ford, was on the water bent ; 

No time to meet and save, — but there was one 

More near the bank, might send a signal on ; 

To him he cried, '' The stream cannot be crossed, 

Oh 1 warn yon stranger that his life is lost 

If he attempt it.'' But each earnest word 

Fell on the listener's ear as though unheard. 

Until he coldly said, '' Can he not see ? 

'Tis his own business, and is nought to me ! " 



178 POETICAL PIECES, 

He did not vmrn him! and the billows bore 

The traveller's lifeless body to the shore ; 

He looked — oh ! well that pallid face was known, — 

A hue as death-like fixed upon his own, 

He shook with horror, agony, remorse, 

And late repentance, — Hwas his fatliei^^s corse ! 

Does censure mingle with the pitting thought 

Of one thus suffering ? — be the moral brought 

Home to each breast. From hill and valley round, 

Where'er free spirits and pure hearts are found. 

We hear a voice of warning, loud and deep, 

To rouse the oppressor, — '^ Comfort those who weep.' 

And do we send it onward? As we prize 

Our peaceful homes, and dear domestic ties, 

Let us — however humble be the task 

To each assigned — let us not pause to ask 

Of what avail can be our feeble powers ? 

Or say, ^' It is their business, and not ours." 

Oh ! ^' doth not He that pondereth the heart," 

Give each one power to perform a part ? 

Doth He not, soon or late, the effort bless 

To make the sufferino; of the wretched lesfe ? 



Had he who would not give one sign to save 
Him, whom he deemed a stranger, from the grave. 
Had he but warned, and striven to give relief, 
Remorse would not have added to his grief. 

1837. 



BY THB GLEANER. 179 



TO MY FATHER. 

"Time has brought me, as it passed, 

More valued joys than those it banished.'* 

Thy locks are silvery ! — I remember well, 

When with my little fingers in thy hair, 
I searched to find the few that Time had changed, — 

So difi'erent from the sable hundreds there. 
'' My child, come hither ! " — and into thy chair, 

Or to thy arms I sprang ; — 'twas long ago; — 
There are who tell us peace with childhood flies, 

That after-years no happiness bestow ; 
But, thanks to thea, 1 have not found it so ; 

Bright, and still brighter joys endear my home, 
And friends, by many a trial proved, are mine. 

And mine to know that wheresoe'er I roam. 
Thy heart will greet me, when again I come, 

To take my place in the loved circle here. 
The dearest place on earth ! — of all my dreams. 

Or wishes for the future — still most dear 
The hope, that I may never cause a tear 

Of sorrow, where IVe found such changeless love; 
How truly, gratefully, I value it, 

May future years enable me to prove. 

1835. 



180 POETICAL PIECES, 



[A young girl suffered with a diseased tooth, which her den- 
tist wished to extract, but objections were made, and some weeks 
passed before it was removed ; then a physician was immediately 
called, who at once said she could not live more than forty-eight 
hours. ] 

Sudden as a burst of thunder 
When no cloud is in the sky, — 

Came the message, — kindl}^ spoken, 
But how awful, — ^' Thou must die I '^ 

"' Die ! '^ exclaimed. the stricken maiden, 

" I am only seventeen ! — 
Oh ! I cannot ! — mother, tell me 

That it is not death you mean. 

'^ ^ It must be ! ' — what shall I do then ? 

' Pray ! ' — alas ! what can I say ? 
I have knelt and said my prayers^ 

But I know not how to pray,'''' 

Writhing then in speechless anguish, 

Sank her spirit to despair ; 
But e'en in that darkest hour. 

Was redeeming mercy there. 

'Twas no human agent taught her 

In her agony to pray ; 
But the light a Saviour brought her. 

Showed the one unerring way. 

Then she prayed ! — as gave the Spirit 
Utterance. Ere twice rose the sun, 

Humbled, and resigned, and calmly. 
Could she say, "' Thy will be done 1 '' 



BY THE GLEANER. 181 

Ere another night closea round her, 
Dawned, we trust, a brighter day ; 

From all pain, and fear, and sorrow, 
Was her spirit called away. 

A monument of Mercy ! — may it be 
A heeded warning ! e'en more suddenly 
To younger, older, may the message come; 
Are we prepared for such a summons home ? 
Home to our " Father's house?" And who can say, 
^^ I live as though I knew the present day 
Must be my last ?" Oh ! may we strive aright 
To labor while 'tis day, for soon will come the night. 
1869. 



[The "Friend" to whom the following lines were addressed 
dreamed a person came and broke the staff he used in walking, 
Next morning his wife was taken ill ; he said he thought of his 
staff. She died in a few days. ] 

TO AN AGED FRIEND. 

"For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." — Psalm 23 : 4, 

Thy earthly staff is broken, 

Ind beneath the heartfelt blow, 

Thy dearest human feelings 
In bitter anguish flow. 

For long, long years, unclouded 
Shone affection's cheering ray ; 

But earth's most valued blessing 
At last must pass awa3\ 



182 POETICAL PIECES. 

Whate er the tie that binds us 
To the dearest, kindest friend. 

There comes an hour of parting — 
Such union death must end. 



! But hast thou not a firmer. 

I A changeless statf. e'en now ? 

^ Hast thou not learned, unmurmuring, 

To thv Master's ^ill to bow ? 



Yes, quiet resignation 

In thy placid look appears ; 
HE who in youth was trusted, 

Blesses thy latter years. 

His •• rod and staff *' thy •• comfort '^ 

Through all the past have been, 
And they will never leave thee, 
E'en in life's closing scene. 
1839. 



'THE r^ROU^'D OX WHICH WE STAND IS OUR 
IXHERITAXCE.*' 

May it — the ground on which I stand — 
Be changeless faith. Oh ! Lord, in Thee. 

And may Thy precept. Thy command. 
My rule of thought and action be I 

That ground is calm, when worldly storms 

Lay many a prouder dwelling low ; 
And only there is ever found 

That peace the world cannot l^stow. 



BY THE GLEANER. 183 

Oh, then, to place and keep me there, 
Thine all-sufficient grace dispense ! 

And may the " God of Jacob " bless 
The lot of my inheritance. 

1825. 



MOTHER AND SON. 

"Not my will, but thine, be done."— LiUKB 22:42. 

A LOVELY babe lay motionless. 

His lips compressed in pain ; 
His pulse had fluttered, paused, as though 

It ne'er would throb again. 
They deemed his suffering almost o'er, 

He knew no mental strife ; 
And death to him had not a pang, 

Save that of parting life. 

Their pastor knelt in prayer, beside 

The sinless infant's bed ; 
'^TJiouI who canst save the dying — Thou! 

Whose power can raise the dead^ 
Spare^ if it be " — The mother wrung 

Her hands in agony. 
" Oh ! say not if — my boy I my boy I 

He must not, shall not die." 

He did not die I — the unequal breath 
Seemed struggling to depart — 

But yet he lived — and lived to wring 
His mother's erring heart. 



184 POETICAL PIECES, 

A disobedient, reckless boy, 
Her love he ne'er returned. 

But all her kindness, all her care. 
With hardened spirit spurned. 

What felt she then ? Oh 1 none can tell 

Her grief, her anguish wild ; 
Remorse embittered every thought 

Of her guilt-branded child. 
She lived to know the worst — but not 

To watch his parting breath — 
He numbered twice ten years of crime, 

Then died a felon's death. 

1836. 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

A MOTHER sat beside the couch 

Where lay her infant boy. 
In the calm sleep to childhood given. 

Ere worldly cares annoy. 
The babe was beautiful ! — she gazed 

With all a mother's pride. 
And deemed the loveliest on earth 

Was slumbering by her side. 

That feeling passed, and love and fear 

Were mingled in her breast ; 
She thought of future hours, when care 

Or pain might banish rest ; 
And tliouglit that he — that even he 

So beautiful and pure, 
Forsaking virtue's path, might stray 

Where specious crimes allure. 



1886. 



JJY TJIE (CLEANER. 185 

How calm and innocent his breast! 

(yV)ul(l t;uilt c\'V entei' tlicre >' 
Would his (^'er In) a ('(^loiTs death ? 

She l)r(\M,tIi(^(l a inciital j)in.yer, 
Th:i,t r.Mthcr now, e/cii thou<j!,h so den,i- — • 

Th.Mt now, whih^ nndelilcd, 
Pure as wlu^n Ih^avi^n hestowc^l the ii,il't, 

It would nicidl hcv (^hild. 



A f)ro[)het (^nl,(^r(Ml — one who (\M,ine 

L(m1 by tli(^ unerrint^' '' Word,'' 
And :inswei('d to her sccu'et thou<i,h<<, 

^' Woman I thy pmycr is licni'd." 
jind it W(is heard! — a tew nior(^ djiyH 

To that J()ve(l child wenj ^iven, 
And tl en, secuirc from future ill. 

His spirit was in Heaven. 



DKATII-Hi:i) OK A SLA VKIIOLDF.R. 

T\]\]Y h.'id de|)arted,^ — thc^y wlio Intel y stood 
I5eside the d(\M,th-1)(^d of jm ji^ed mnn, 
1\) witness bis Inst net; his ti'cnd)linL;- hniid 
(Tln^n, when he felt thnt ho, wns len,vin^ nil 
His (^nrthly trc^nsurc^s) tnuu^l his sit^imture 
1\) v\(',\i be(juests of money, houses, Iniids, 
And, — ev(vn in thnt awful hour, his frnrno 
By [)n,lsy Btricken, when In^ felt his hcnrt 
I^]r(^ lon^ must C(^n,S(i t,o bent, — t,o ot hers he 
Secured tlio powc^r (so soon to j)nss from him) 
Of holdin<>^ f(^Ilow-m(in in slavery. 



186 POETICAL PIECES, 

And then he slept, — the excitement past, he sank 
Into a deep, long slumber ; but there still 
Was one who watched beside him, holding there. 
Communion with her own soul and Heaven. 

Hers had been the deep, speechless grief, that wrings 
With overwhelming agony, the heart 
To which such trial comes, — and she had prayed 
For resignation and for strength, and they 
Were mercifully granted her ; she felt 
Her Heavenly Father still would care for her ; 
And to a high, a sacred duty, then 
She turned. 

Her sire awoke, and thankfully 
She marked the light yet beaming in his eye. 
Performed each needful office, then with low 
And faltering voice, '' Father ! " she said. " My child, 
What wouldst thou? speak ! is aught upon thy mind?" 
'' There is, my father ! — yes, there is, — I'd ask 
To whom you've willed 3^our slaves ? " — ^' My Isadore, 
It is not like you, to concern j^ourself 
With such affairs, — but I have wellnigh done 
With all of earth, and, dear one, not from you 
Wish I concealment ; twenty-five I give 
Your mother, thirty to my eldest son. 
And to your younger brother twenty-five. 
To 3^ou, my child, a portion will be paid, 
GiA'ing 3"0U wealth at your command alone." 

" Thanks, dearest father! — yet, kind as 3'ou are, 
And ever have been, I one faA^or more 
Would ask." '' My daughter, wh}^ disturb me thus. 
The close of life so near? " " It pains me much, 
But I must speak. My father, will you grant 
My one request ? " ^' I will, my child." " I ask 
You then to give your slaves to me, — no more 



BY THE GLEANER. 187 

I wish of your possessions." ^'Why, my girl, 
They are not worth half I have given you, 
And would to you be useless." ^' No, oh, no ! 
The moment they are mine they shall be free, 
And, then, dear father, when your soul is called 
To judgment, there will be no record of 
Your having doomed to hopeless slavery, 
Your fellow-beings." 

To that old man's brow 
A dark shade came, and minutes passed away, 
In which he spoke not. Then he said, '' So short 
My time, — call my physician, Isadore." 
He was obeyed, and anxiousl}^ inquired, — 
'^ May I yet hope to live for three hours more ? " 
The answer cheered him, and his latest hours 
Were blest by penitence and hope, — he gave 
Freedom to all his slaves. 

And Isadore, — 
The gold he left her was the smallest part 
Of her inheritance ; the gratitude. 
The warm affection of the disenthralled, 
Were hers for life. And they, — did they go forth. 
To Northern streets and alleys, indolent. 
Poor, and dependent? — Or were they allured 
By false, but specious, tales, to leave their home. 
Their countr}^, seeking a more genial clime, — 
Finding but misery and early graves ? 
No, no, they are what others have been, what 
Thousands beside would 5e, with such a friend. 
Industrious, faithful, — toiling cheerfull}^ 
For those by wliom, but for that gentle girl, 
They had been held in bondage ; and the}^ too, — 
Her brothers, bless her, — feeling that the guilt 
Once theirs, is now remoA^ed ; and proving too 



188 POETICAL PIECES, 

By thousands added to their former store, 
What gain is theirs, who from the laborer 
Withhold not his reward. 

1842. 

TO S. B. 

'•Keep yourselves from idols.'* — 1 John 5: 21. 

Thou'st seen, where Ganges' far-famed waters flow, 
Men worship idols — (idols of the clay 

Beneath their feet), hast seen them lowl^^ bow 
E'en to the work of their own hands, and pray 

To a frail image, that the next moment may 

Sweep from their A^ew forever. Didst thou then 

Turn lightly from the piteous sight away, 
Nor deem that ever, 'mid more gifted men, 
'Twould be thy lot to mark worship like that again? 

Like that ? — ^nay, far more sorrowful ! to us 

What priceless, countless blessings have been given 1 

Can we remember them, nor bow our souls 
In humble, ceaseless gratitude to heaA^en? 

Can we e'er turn from pure, ^' indwelling " light 

To phantoms that may lead to rayless night ? 

Yes, e'en where inspiration sheds 

Its holy light around. 
Is many an altar, many a shrine 

Of idol ^cor ship found. 
Sometimes we dream that from such shrine 

Beams a celestial ray ; 
Sometimes we know the image there 

Is but of painted clay ; 
And yet, alas ! to it is given 
Devotion only due to heaven. 



BY THE GLEANER. 189 

Oh ! let us search our hearts to find 

The idols cherished there, 
And seek for strength to banish them, 

By penitence and prayer : — 
More guilty far shall we be held, 

Than they on Ganges' shore, 
If, for the '' much " we have received. 

We do not render more, — 
More than those poor benighted men, 
Whom we may pity, not condemn. 



1839. 



"BEER-LAHAI-ROI." 

How sad, how utterly cast down 
And desolate, felt Hagar when. 

The present and the future dark. 

She turned her from the haunts of men, 

To wander in the wilderness, 

With scarce a hope her path to bless. 

Yet in that deeply trying hour, 

She found the All-seeing eye was there ;- 
And after, when, 'neath added grief, 

Her spirit yielded to despair. 
She heard again that blessed voice, 
That bade her fainting soul rejoice, 

"• Thou seest me 1 " — Oh 1 how desolate, 
How dark soe'er our path may be. 

We may look up in faith and hope. 
And humbly say, '' Thou seest me." 

Even if sunk in sin, we know 

Whence does a healing fountain flow. 



190 POETICAL PIECES, 

For countless blessings poured around 
Our paths, how thankless do we prove, 

Till, Blessed Saviour! taught to feel 
In Thy deep chastening ^ Thy love. 

Finding this world a wilderness, 

We learn that Thou alone canst bless. 

Thou seest us in extremest grief, 

Even in such deep agony 
As Hagar's, when she turned aside, 

Leaving her dearest one to die. 
TThen human strength is powerless, 
Thy boundless mercy still can bless. 

Oh : to feel this ! *Tis Thou alone 

Canst teach it to the stricken heart, 
And often, in Thy love, 'tis taught. 

By bidding cherished hopes depart : 
Oh ! most unworthy though we be. 
Grant that we humbly, thankfully, 
May say, and feel, ^' Thou seest me." 
1844. 



*' STRIVE FOR THE RIGHT." 
(lines written by request.) 

Progress ! Reform ! Improvement ! 

Repeated o'er and o'er. 
In lecture, song, and sermon, 

Sounding from shore to shore. 

Those words are ringing round us : 
Lo here ! lo there ! we're told, 

Mingling in such confusion 
As Babel showed of old. 



BY THE GLEANER. 191 

So various is their meaning, 

Should we choose one for a guide, 

Would not others come before us, 
Thrusting the first aside ? 

Not from them, however specious. 
Should we seek to make a choice; 

But in quiet and in patience, 
List for " a still small voice." 

The earthquake, wind and fire. 

Claimed not the prophet's care,* 
But when came that " small " yet powerful voice, 

He knew the Lord was there. 

Still there ! — the olden prophets 

Have long since passed away ; 
And some may query sadly, 

'' The fathers, where are they?" 

Yet we have that voice unerring, 

That sacred inward Light, 
Which, if followed humbly, faithfully, 

Will guide our steps aright. 

But the unwearied tempter 

Has many a specious wile. 
To right or left hand errors 

Still striving to beguile. 

And human strength is powerless, 

Or aids to lead astray ; 
He who is strength in weakness 

Alone can guide our way. 



*1 Kings 19 :11, 13. 



192 POETICAL PIECES, 

And though too oft rebellious, 
If repentant, He will prove 

An Advocate for mercy, 
With the Holy One above. 

• 1870. 



A CONTRAST. 

A SCREAM of heart-rending agony 

From Susquehanna's tide 
Rang far around, and a mother rushed 

To the swollen river's side. 

The voice of her son — a noble boy — 

Rose 'mid the water's roar, 
As he strove, against the current's force. 

To gain the distant shore. 

There were two who heard her fervent prayer, 

The sinking child to save ; 
The one was a ^'' free ivhite citizen,^^ 

The other a " dark-browed slave,'^^ 

The sufferer's efforts more feeble grew, 

More faint his despairing cry ; 
The white man glanced at the awful scene. 

And said, " The boy will die ! " 

" Die ! if he must, I will die with him," 

Exclaimed the generous slave. 
A plunge — a struggle — unshrinkingly 

He met each raging wave. 



BY THE GLEANER. 193 

With fearless soul, but fast-failing strength, 

The rescued boy he bore 
To his mother's wild embrace, then sank 

Exhausted on the shore. 

But soon, with a pulse till then unknown, 

His heart throbbed high and free : 
His chain was broken by grateful hearts, 

He rose to Liberty I 



1838. 



[It was said by Caleb Pennock, an ancient and estimable min- 
ister of the Society of Friends, that that Society was like an old 
building, which must all be taken apart, and the sound timbers 
used to erect another edifice.] 

Oh ! who amongst us will there be. 

When tried and proved, who will be found 

Worthy to fill a place where all 
Must be unwavering and sound ? 

Some, viewed as pillars nought can move, 

May hollow and unworthy prove. 

But leave we them to Him whose eye 

Sees not as erring mortals see ; 
And looking to ourselves, inquire 

What place assigned to us may be, 
When tried by an unerring test, — ■ 
The secret feelings of the breast. 

Oh I may we for the trial hour. 

Be striving humbly to prepare ; 
And heed the warning voice that cries. 

In earnest tones, — Beware, beware ! 



194 POETICAL PIECES, 

Lean not on that which is decayed, 
Lest with it ve be lowly laid. 



^' Cease ye from man^'^ however pure, 
Upright, and firm he may appear; 

Look not to friend or brother, though 
Gentle and kind and very dear ; 

Let one unerring voice be heard 

Alone — the pure ••inspeaking word/' 

That voice will lead us as it led 

Our '• early Friends," and oh ! may we 

Humbly and earnestly take heed 
To the " sure word of prophecy." 

Even till the '* dark place" departs, 

^' And the dav-star rise '' in our hearts. 



TO S. L. 

Once again I'm parted from thee. 

Dearest ! — Once again 
Memory, hope, and fear are mingling 

In my heart and brain. — 
Yet I'd banish idle fancies, 

They are very vain. 

Kind, warm-hearted welcomes greet me 

Friends of early years. — 
Friends and kindred gather round me. 

Cordial and sincere. 
Yet a cloud o'er all is resting. 

For thou art not here ! 



BY THE GLEANER. 195 

Friend, protector, guide, — my husband! 

Still I turn to thee, 
Haply it may be too fondly. 

May — oh ! may I be, 
'Mid my countless blessings, ever 
Looking to the Gracious Giver 

Of them all to me. 
1859. 

THE TEMPTED. 

'TwAS a wedding party — ^the gay and the fair, 

The young and light-hearted assembled there ; 

If grief were among them 'twas hidden, — it seemed 

That pleasure alone from each sparkling eye beamed, 

Not one clouded brow in the circle was found. 

All was gayety there, — and the wine-cup went round. 

The wine-cup went round, — ^there was one passed it by. 

Calmly, firmly, or giving a playful reply 

To the thoughtless who blamed, or the heartless who 

sneered. 
He asked not their praise, nor their ridicule feared ; 
But felt, — to the past as he silently turned. 
Unless now the first draught from the goblet were 

spurned, 
The strength he had prayed for, and gained, would be 

o'er, 
No safety remained if he tasted it more I 
There was one whom he loved, — she was there, she would 

see. 
With temptation around him, how firm he could be. 
But she stood by his side — the wine-cup in her hand. 
And in tones 'twixt entreaty and playful command. 
Exclaimed, " Oh, so obstinate, how can you be ? 
You will not, you cannot refuse it from me ! '^ 



196 POETICAL PIECES, 

He did not refuse it, and proud of her power, 

She enjoyed it awhile, — but alas for that hour ! 

Time passed, — they were wedded, — and soon from her 

side 
He wandered, and left her a desolate bride, 
Or returned to his home, with the withering blight 
Of intemperance upon him — she wept at the sight. 
But her tears are unheeded; or answered, as yet 
Her reasoning, entreaties, reproaches, are met, — 
He bids her remember that night, when a draught, 
In obedience to her, from the goblet he quaffed, 
Says that others had urged, might have urged him in 

vain. 
His soul, but for her, had been free from that stain ; 
And she feels such reproaches were earned but too 

well, — 
In trials and sorrows that no one can tell, 
And in fruitless repentance, she passes her life, 
A hopelessly wretched inebriate's wife ! 
1841. 



THANKSGIVINa. 

Speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing 
and making melody in your hearts to the Lord : giving thanks always for aU 
things unto G-od and the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.— 
Eph. 5:19.20. 

The sun is beaming o'er a glorious scene, 

Late shrouded in the rayless gloom of night, — 

The same kind hand which hid that scene from view, 
Restores it now, more freshly, purely bright : 

Thus, while we sleep, an eye that never sleeps 

Watch over our unconscious breathing keeps 
Therefore ofive thanks. 



BY THE GLEANER. 197 

Tte mom of life in dewy freshness shines, 
Its clouds but temper noon's too fervid ray, 

And in the evening sunbeams richly glow 

The fruits and flowers nurtured in early day ; 

From storms is shelter offered— heavenly calm ; 

In the most bitter cup is mingled balm, 
Therefore give thanks. 

The Moslem priests proclaim an hour of prayer, 
And every head is bowed, each knee is bent 

At their command. To us from all around, 
A holier call for prayer and praise is sent— 

From nature's changes, sunshine, shade, and shower, 

From countless blessings, marking every hour, 
Therefore give thanks. 

Give thanks I — but in no lightly spoken words — 
From the deep fountains of a contrite heart. 

Be ''spiritual," unbroken praises poured — 
The humble and confiding Christian's part I 

To Him, our Father, evermore the same, 

" For all things " in our blessed Saviour's name, 
Give thanks I give thanks 1 
1839. 



STANZAS. 

*' And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and 
he began to be in want." — Lukk 15: 14. 

How bright and beautiful our world I 
How rich in all that nature brings ; 

Above, around, beneath our feet, 
Unnumbered are her offerings. 



198 



POETICAL PIECES, 



And minds are given us to enjoy 

The countless treasures poured around, 

And deep, rich founts of sympathy 
In many a kindred heart are found. 

Yet — there^s a famine in the land; 

And who has not '^ began to be 
In want?" — who does not sometimes feel 

The humbled spirit's poverty ? 
Though of earth's treasures all the best, 

The purest to our lot may fall, 
Though rich in intellectual gifts. 

We're poor indeed — if these be all. 

If all our sustenance be drawn 

From plants which have on earth their root, 
Though bright their hour of blossoming. 

At last we gather bitter fruit. 
Oh, let us, ere it ripen, ere 

Of Heaven's free gifts we spend our share, 
Seek food for the immortal soul, 

Where there- is plenty yet to spare. 

Then will the countless treasures, poured 

Around our daily paths on earth. 
Be thankfully received, but not 

Valued above their real worth ; 
A spirit to enjoy aright 

This world of beauty, will be given 
To those who view it as a scene, 

Through which their pathway leads to Heaven. 



1840. 



BY THE GLEANER. 199 



IMPROMPTU. 

^'Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks."- 
1 Thessalonians 5 : 16, 17, 18. 

Above all vain repining, 

With grateful spirit soar ! — 
In Heaven's unnumbered blessings 

Rejoicing evermore. 

That clouds which gather round thee. 

May calmly pass away, 
Or for strength to rise above them, 

Pray ! — without ceasing, pray I 

For the healthful breeze of winter, 

The balmy air of spring — 
For summer's flowers, and autumn's fruit— 
Give thanks for everything 1 
1839. 



TO 



"As rivers of water in a dry place ; as the shadows of a great rock in a weary 
Iand."--ISAIAH32: 2. 

The world has desert places, 
But to humble faith and prayer, 

Will be given an oasis, 

In the darkest pathway there. 

However sad and dreary 

Thy lot may sometimes be, 
Remember, when most weary, 

There's a place of rest for thee, 
1841. 



200 POETICAL PIECES, 



*' HOUSEHOLD TREASURES.'' 

What are the treasures of earth ? Behold ! 

The miser points to his hoarded gold ; 

The pampered children of luxury. 

To the glittering baubles that wealth can buy; 

The student tells of his gathered lore^ 

While with ceaseless labor he toils for more ; 

And the answer as varying we find, 

As the changing thoughts of the human mind. 

But soon or late there may come a day, 

When such treasures, '• to moth and rust '' a prey, 

Shall, from those who valued them most, depart, 

Or remain to probe the repentant heail. 

Yet if 'mid the blessings, poured around 

Our path through life, there be any found 

So pure, so linked with our thoughts of heaven. 

That we almost hope to be forgiven. 

Though they share by far too large a part, 

In the deepest feelings of the heart ; 

Oh, if such treasures on earth there be, 

They are found in guileless infancy. 

The image of purity undefiled, 

And the loving heart of a sinless child. 

But, happy young mother, there cometh a day. 

When thy *' household treasures"' shall pass away, 

Thou may est see them sink to an early grave. 

Or leave thee the storms of the world to brave. 

Dost thou strive to teach them, where'er they roam, 

To seek the path to a heavenly home ? 

Dost thou feel, the lines which thy hand shall trace 

On their spirits now, time may ne'er efface ? 



BY THE GLEANER. 201 

Kememberiiig this query must answered be, 
'-'' Those innocent ones that I gave to thee, 
To watch and to guide through the treacherous way 
Of the world's dark wilderness, where are they?" 
Oh, forget not, those so cherished and dear, 
Have '' no continuing city here," 
But humbly and earnestly pray that He, 
Who gave them, give '' wisdom and strength to thee," 
And His all-sufficient grace impart. 
To turn to Himself each beloved one's heart. 
1843. 

HYMN. 

" Go ye also into the vineyard ; and whatsoever is rij^ht, that shall ye receive." 
—Matthew 20: 7. 

'^ Enter, enter in and labor," 

Still we hear the call ; 
And the promise never broken, 

Still is made to all. 

Howsoe'er our steps may wander 

From the beaten way, 
If the path we tread is brightened 

By a heavenly ray. 

Pause no more in fear or doubting, 

Of the end to ask ; 
Seek but willingness to labor 

In the appointed task. 

Help and strength will then be given, 

And whate'er is right 
(Haply not what we may wish for), 

Will the toil requite. 



202 



1840. 



POETICAL PIECES, 

Oh! we know not what is needed, 

To prepare the heart 
With its many worldly idols, 

Cherished long, to part. 

All, all these, we may be bidden 

Wholly to resign. 
That against our feeble efforts, 

They no more combine. 

But a rich reward awaits us. 
One of priceless worth, 

Better far than all the treasures 
Ever gained from earth. 

Enter then the field of labor. 

Soon our toil will be 
Past, and the reward it brings us, 

Ours eternally. 



[Mary Dockstater, daughter of Benjamin Pierce, a Seneca 
Indian, deceased Eighth month 18th, 1851.] 

I SAW her first, 
A meek young maiden, moving gracefully 
Within her widowed father's humble home ; — 
The home of many, young and motherless. 
Who clung with strong, confiding love to her. 

That had not always been her dwelling. She, 
In a far distant city, had been taught 
The housewife's useful arts, whose practice threw 
An air of pleasantness on all around. 



BY THE GLEANEU. 203 

Then she became a wife, her chosen one 
Sharing the home she dearly loved ; but oft 
Did pain and sickness visit her. 

She gave 
To me a little token (cherished well) 
Of kind regard, and then we parted, with 
A hope to meet ere very long again. 
We met no more ! With her " life's partner " she 
At length went many miles away, to share 
With him another home; and months passed on, 
But health returned not ; — and when died her babe. 
There came a longing for her childhood's home — 
A strong, o'erpowering wish to see again 
That home, and loved ones there whom death had left. 
And he, whose skill and medicine had failed 
To check the steady progress of disease. 
Said, " Not for her are many days on earth, 
But take her thither ; she cannot survive 
The disappointment of a hope so dear." 

Her parent asked her of ^4ier state of mind, 
In view of the departure of her soul 
From mortal clay." 

She said, ^^ I have repented all my sin ; 
I think that I am going now to Heaven, 
And could praise Him with song forever. I 
To go away am willing, — am prepared, 
But God will do with me as unto Him 
It seemeth good to do." 

Then they (her father and her husband) brought 
Her on her bed away ; and thrice twelve miles 
Were to be passed to reach her home, beside 
The quiet Alleghany. But when half 
That distance had been traversed, failed the strength, 
The little strength that had been hers till tlien. 



204 POETICAL PIECES, 

She said, '^ Stop, father, I shall die — I am 

Now dying, and am ready.'' Then e'en there 

('Twixt her two homes on earth) her spirit pa,ssed 

From earth forever, to a better home. 

As we sincerely trust; unto " an house 

]N^ot made with hands," eternal in the Heavens. 

Meek daughter of the noble Senecas 1 
Thy memory will be dear to me. And oh I 
That He who gave thy parting spirit peace 
May in such awful hour '^ remember me 
According to His mercy." 

TUNESSASSAH, 1851. 



LINES 

TO A CHILD WHO, IN ACUTE SUFFERING, EXCIi AIMED, **0HI 

MOTHER, PRAY FOR ME ; I DO NOT KNOW 

HOW TO PRAY.'* 

DosT thou ask that another pray for thee ? 
Words may be spoken on bended knee, 
Eloquent, beautiful, yet no share 
Of the spirit of prayer be breathing there. 

Dost thou wish that thou mayst be taught the way. 
In sickness or pain for thyself to pray ? 
Of thy Heavenly Father that lesson seek; 
He will teach thy spirit to Him to speak. 
He will teach thee if thou obey His voice, 
If the path of duty shall be thy choice. 
If thou do not rebelliously depart 
From His law that is written in thy heart, 
But strive in humility day by day 
To follow as He shall direct thy way. 



BY THE GLEANEH. 205 

Entreat that He give thee a heart to pray, — 
Not that no sorrow or care He send, 
But that strength to bear them His grace may lend. 
Whatever thy suffering may be, 
Remember who bore far more for thee ; 
So mayst thou be able through grace divine 
To say, Not my will be done, but Thine. 

1841. 



LIVING WATER. 

*Iiet him that is athirst, come ; and whosoever will, let him take the water 
of life freely."— Rev. 22 : 17. 

He who that sacred stream supplies, 
Has placed no barrier in the way ; 

But human weakness, passion, pride, 
Oft lead us from the path astray. 

In prospect, though that path may seem 
Dark, to our unenlightened view. 

If in sincerity we take 

Christ for our guide. He'll lead us through. 

And light celestial, such as ne'er 
By worldl}" eyes is seen, will beam 

Around, within us, while we draw 

Refreshment from that living stream. 

The stream of life I its water pure. 

To those who humbly seek, is given 
Freely on earth, preparing them 

To reach, at last, its source in heaven. 
1841. 



206 POETICAL PIECES, 



*^FOLLOW ME.'' 

*^If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me." 

John 21: 22. 

" Follow thou me I and if I will 
That he shall tarrj^, what to thee 

Is that ?" 'Twas thus our Saviour spoke, 
Thus still He speaketh : '^ Follow me ! " 

Such is the call to every soul, 

For (though by man's rebellious will 

So oft unheeded, or despised) 
It pleads in love and merc}^ still. 

Then follow Him in humble faith, 
Nor deem that all must go astray. 

Who do but " tarry " till the '' Star 
Of Bethlehem " shall direct their way. 

Their path on earth may lead afar 
From that in which thy lot is cast ; 

But all who follow Christ, will be 
United in one fold at last. 



LINES. 

"Prepare the upper chamber of our hearts, &c," — E. M. W. 
(See Mark 14: 15.) 

What is in the '' upper chamber " 
Of my throbbing heart to-day ? 

In this sunlight let me search it, 
What is there to clear away ? 



BY THE GLEANER. 207 

There are humbly gratef ul* feelings 
For the good " our Father " sends ; 

There is grateful warm affection 
For my many precious fribuds. 

There are home and all its treasures, 

Blessings of each passing day. 
Is it not a sunny chamber ? 

Is there aught to clear away ? 

Oh, the vain self-righteous question ! 

Are they not as idols there ? 
Is there 'mid their bloom and sunshine, 

For the Saviour room to spare ? 

Are there not in darkened corners, 

Hidden from the light of day, 
Wrong, rebellious feelings cherished. 

And the better turned away ? 

Long, long years with countless mercies 

Has my cup been running o'er ; 
But forgetful and ungrateful. 

Can I, dare I, ask for more ? 

Oh, one more 1 that strength be given. 

Strength for humble, earnest prayer — 
Until my heart be cleansed and broken — 
That He may pity not, nor spare. 
1868. 



208 POETICAL PIECES, 



"PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.'' 

1 Thbssalonians 5:17. 

" Mother, why does the Apostle say, 

'Pray without ceasing ? ' how can I pray, 

When many around me I hear and see, 

When my brothers and sisters talk to me. 

At my daily tasks, in the crowded street, 

*When at home and abroad with friends I meet ; 

When other duties demand my care. 

Dear mother, how can I kneel in prayer?'' 

*' My child, thou ma^^st be favored to feel 

The spirit of prayer^ and yet not kneel ; 

Though many affections have a part 

('Tis right they should) in thy warm young heart; 

If thou learn to cherish, all else above. 

The thoughts of a Saviour's boundless love. 

Remembering thy own unworthiness still. 

And humbly seeking to know His will ; 

If thou feel His presence is everywhere. 

He will put in thy heart the voice of prayer. 

Look on the ocean, the mountain, and plain. 

The stately forest, and waving grain. 

Do these but the wonders of Nature declare ? 

The hand of the Author of Nature is there ! 

Prom highest mountain to simplest flower, 

All prove his creative, sustaining power. 

But, my child, although the life of man 

In this beautiful world is but a span, 

The immortal soul is of far more worth 

Than aught else our Creator placed on earth. 

Oh, guard that treasure with grateful care I 

Seeking for strength in unceasing prayer. 



BY THE GLEANER. 209 

Though unspoken thy aspirations be, 

There's an ear to hear, and if earnestly 

Thou strive to subdue thy stubborn will, 

And thy Saviour's mandates to fulfil, 

A guiding light on thy path will shine ; 

A blessed hope and trust may be thine, 

Which, guided and strengthened by grace divine. 

Shall (whatever else may demand thy care) 

Breathe in thy heart in unceasing prayer." 

1842. 



TO 



*' Cease from thine own wisdom." — ^Prov. 23 : 4. 
Tor the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God."— 1 Cor. 3: 19. 

Leave me the faith, the childlike faith 
From memory's earliest record mine. 

Ere I had heard of unbelief. 

Or knew that men would rear a shrine 

To reason, taking thither all 

They read or saw, or thought or heard, 
History, promise, prophecy,— 

E'en inspiration's sacred word. 

Nor knew I then, that men would call 

Facts — " Bible truths," — but types of things 

Present or past, or having place 
But in their own imaginings. 

Ere I had heard of things like these, 

I had a little book, which told 
(A treasure to the infant mind) 

Of Joseph by his brethren sold ; 



210 POETICAL PIECES, 

And with what interest new and deep, 
I from my primer learned to say 

The hymn which told of that blessed babe, 
Whose bed, whose " softest bed was hay.'^ 

Then too, how Ananias and 

Sapphira died, was pondered o'er ; 
Then came the Scriptures, with their rich, 

And varied, and exhaustless store. 
Dreaming not, of the records there, 

That any could a doubt avow, 
I asked no worldwise comments then, 

I do not ask for any now. 

But I do ask (and oh I for grace 
To seek aright for what is meet) 

That in His sacred words be found 

"A lamp " to guide my wandering '' feet." 

United with the unerring light 

In mercy placed '' within " to shine ! 

Then leave to me the childlike faith. 

From memory's earliest record mine. 
1843. 



BIPING THE STORM. 

'TwAS a dark and dreary autumnal day, 

The summer brightness had passed away ; 

'Twas dreary and dark,- — and with mournful sound. 

Bringing storm and tempest, the wind rushed round. 

Through an orchard of leafless trees it swept, 

Which shivered and shook as its course it kept, 

AVhile their branches were tossed with a force that proved 

How firm were the roots which remained unmoved. 



BY THE GLEANER. 211 

A mother in Israel raised her head, 

And looked abroad from her dying bed, 

And said, the trees seem e'en firmer now, 

Than when foliage and blossoms were on each bough ; — 

Ah, a time of gloom and of storm is near. 

Of stripping and shaking, — until it appear 

Who shall firmly stand. 

She is gathered home, 
And the time of which she spake has come. 
It has come I and they fall on either hand. 
As the storm sweeps the length and the breadth of our land. 
But yet there is One who can bid it cease, 
And say to the raging tempest, " Peace." 
Oh, surely a remnant preserved shall be. 
Though '^ scattered and peeled," — e'en a remnant that He 
Will bring through the fire, and tr}^, and refine ; 
They shall call on His name — He shall say, They are mine. 
1858. 



RESIGNATIOISr. 

"Consider the work of Grod ; for who can make that straight, which He hath 
made crooked ?" — Eccl. 7 : 13. 

Though thy pathway be uneven, 

Do not murmur or repine. 
But unto the will of Heaven, 

In submission humble thine. 



Did we find no cross or trial 
With our hopes and joys allied. 

And no cause for self-denial, — • 
How would our faith be tried ? 



212 POETICAL PIECES, 

Oh I let us strive, when bending 

Beneath a load of care, 
To turn to Him who's lending 

An ear to humble prayer ; 

And pray, — not that no longer 
Sorrow or care we find, — 

But that our faith grow stronger, 
Our spirits more resigned. 

Led by our wishes blindly. 
How should we go astray, 

If crosses were not kindly 

Placed sometimes in our way ! 

Then, — though '^ crooked " or uneven 

Our pathway, — may we still 

In submission bow to Heaven, 

Our wayward, selfish will. 
1840. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S PATH. 

" We were ascending a mountain, and had frequent views of 
beautiful and varied scenery, but could not at any time see far 
before us; my companion observed, our road was like that of the 
Christian." 

Most beautiful and true 1 — the Christian's path 

Is onward, upward, and though he but see 
A little way before, and cannot know 

What the next prospect, brought to view, may be ; 
He feels his narrow way is safe, and feels 

(Though precipice and pitfall may be near) 
That if he do not pause, or turn aside 

From the plain pathway, there is naught to fear. 



BY THE GLEANER. 213 

Bright, flowery labyrinths may meet his eye, 

With parch 'd lips he may hear the murmuring rill, 

See shaded banks inviting to repose,— 
But his one path is onward, upward still. 

And when, — a point long seen, attained, — he views 

The perils and temptations left behind, 
What cause for humble, fervent gratitude, 

For strengthened faith and patience does he find ; 
And views around, fresh from their Maker's hand. 

Scenes, that, while wandering in the vale below, 
Pierced by its thorns, or culling fading flowers, 

He scarcely dreamed of, or ne'er hoped to know. 
And howe'er short his vision sometimes be. 

An humble trust is to his spirit given, 
That He whose "rod and staff" are with him here, 

Will, through a Saviour's mercy, lead to Heaven. 

Oh ! for a single eye to that pure light 

By which such pilgrims on their way are led ; 

Oh I for a part in the unclouded hope 

That cheers the dying Christian's humblest bed 1 

1844. 

A CONTRITE SPIRIT. 

*' Be still, and know that I am God."— Ps. 46 : 10. " The Lord is nigh unto 
them that are of a broken heart ; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit." — 
Ps. 34 : 18. 

When piercing thorns are 'neath our feet, 
And darkly threat 'ning clouds above, 

When narrower, narrower, day by day, 

Our path becomes — how blessed are they. 

Who, casting fear and doubt away, 
Trust in a gracious Saviour's love ; 



214 POETICAL PIECES, 

Who, bowing in submission, hear 

The awful words, ^'•Be still! " and know 
That thoughts and feelings cherished long, 
And ruling, in dominion strong. 
The erring heart, so prone to wrong, 
Deep shadows on their pathway throw. 

Oh, for the calm, the holy calm, 

That only faith and hope impart ! 
The faith and hope in Him alone. 
Who sitteth on the eternal throne, 
Who will the " contrite spirit " own, 

Whose mercy heals the '' broken heart I " 
1844. 



THIRSTING NO MORE. 

*' Whosoever drinketh of this water shaU thirst again : But whosoever 
drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst ; but the water 
that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into even 
lasting life/'— John 4 : 13, 14. 

We drink from a fountain of pleasure, 
Whose source is on earth, and we dream 

We have found in its waters a treasure, 
So pure and unmixed do they seem ; 

As they sparkle in brilliance so dazzlingly bright, 

We ask not whence comes that bewildering light. 

But there cometh an hour of waking, 

When, faint and exhausted, we know 
That poisonous draughts we've been taking, — • 

Polluted the source whence they flow ; 
When the spirit feels thirst that this world cannot cure, 
That can only be quenched at a fountain more pure. 



i 1841. 



BY THE GLEANER. 215 

We are called to partake of the water 

Of life, springing up as of yore, 
When 'twas told to Samaria's daughter, 

^^ He who drinks shall be thirsty no more." 
Oh I humbly and gratefully may we receive 
What our Saviour, in mercy, thus offers to give. 



HOSPITALITY. 

*'Benot forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained 
angels unawares." — Heb. 13: 2. 

The wanderer is coming again, to share 

Bright smiles of welcome, and friendly care ; 

They have ever been his when he passed that way, 

And tarried from eve till the dawning day. 

They have ever been his, and they touched his heart ; 

It was joy to meet — it was pain to part ; 

For dear to the wanderer, wherever he roam, 

The kindness and care that remind him of home. 

He has come again — -and in all around. 

Are signs of approaching festivity found ; 

The smiling children who press to his side, 

In whispers tell of a wedding — the bride. 

Their beautiful sister — he breathes a prayer 

That she may be happy, as gentle and fair, 

The guests are assembling, the bridegroom — but now 
Why comes that flush to the wanderer's brow? 
His quivering lip, and his changing cheek, 
Of deep, overwhelming emotion speak. 
Why fixed on the bridegroom his fiery eye ? 
He knows him a villain of deepest dye I 



216 POETICAL PIECES. 

Knows, long since his marriage vow was spoken, 
And the faith he plighted unfeelingly broken ; 
That the children and wife he deserted, yet live; — 
But a whispered threat does that recreant give, 
A threat of deep vengeance , of death — should he dare 
That secret to utter ; — and must he then share 
Such guilt ? — every feeling of honor forego ? 
Resign that sweet girl to such misery ? — No I 
To save her e'en yet, he at least will endeavor. 
He speaks — and the false one is banished forever. 
When the wandering stranger first came that way, 
And a shelter asked at the close of day. 
They were *'not forgetful" (with plenty blessed) 
Of the stranger'' s claim^ and they bade him rest ; 
They welcomed him still when that way he passed — 
And rich the reward he brought them at last. 
1838. 



THE ENB. 



MAR 25 1907 



